


The Sanditon Grand Hotel

by MissToni



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Beware of Chapter 31, F/M, Featuring birds and crocodiles, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Modern Era, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 140,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissToni/pseuds/MissToni
Summary: “A white castle afar from the world…”– That’s Tom Parker’s Sanditon Grand Hotel. For Charlotte Heywood, the new management trainee, it’s a place of adventure, experience, discovery… and of a great love story. But is there a chance for true love in a world full of secrets, superficial fame and financial challenges?The storyline is generally based on Andrew Davies’ Sanditon, but since it's set in 2017, there are some twists and turns. The most significant twist is, of course, that no one is going to steal the happy ending (even if certain people will try everything they can to achieve just that).***COMPLETE***
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood & Sidney Parker, Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 1056
Kudos: 755





	1. Welcome to Sanditon

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I’m doing this. Again. It’s an affliction. Worse than the measles. 
> 
> As a cure, I’m once more out to steal a few lines from Jane Austen, Andrew Davies and Kate Riordan, and I’m travelling back to Sanditon. Seems to be one of the safest places for a holiday this year.
> 
> In the first chapter, Charlotte Heywood meets the worst driver on the whole of the South Coast, learns a few things about no-parking zones and is set up for an afternoon on the beach.

“Welcome to Sanditon, my dear,” Mr Parker said with a beaming smile, heaving Charlotte’s suitcase into the boot of the hotel van. He was a tall man, bursting of an energy that set his whole wiry body into motion as if he was an electric doll.

“Thank you.” Charlotte looked around herself. Sanditon station on a Thursday afternoon during the first week of May was not a busy place – a couple of tourists checking their phones for the quickest way down to the famous beach, a handful of locals returning from Brighton or other places along the train line, some kids hanging out in front of the Victorian station building.

“Jump in,” Mr Parker said, opening the passenger door. “I have to run an errand or two in town for Mrs Parker, then we’ll pick up the girls, and after that, it’s straight up to the white swan of Sanditon.”

“The White Swan?” Charlotte asked, wondering whether he was suggesting a visit to the local pub.

“The Sanditon Grand Hotel,” Mr Parker said, his smile broader than ever and his large blue eyes taking on a dreamy expression. “A white castle afar from the world, gleaming in the sunshine as it sits perched high up on the clifftop, commanding singular views across the English Channel towards the distant shores of France. – I’m testing out new slogans,” he added in a less dramatic tone and started the car.

“This one might be a bit too long,” Charlotte said. “But I like the idea of a white swan.”

“Ha! Splendid! Have you experience in marketing?”

“It was part of the curriculum at hotel management school. I specialised in business administration, though.”

“Splendid. Splendid!” Mr Parker repeated.

Charlotte made no reply. She was busy grabbing the handrail and praying for her life. Mr Parker’s driving style could be called racy at best, especially in the narrow streets full of parked cars that lead into the town centre. She was sure she heard honking more than once behind them, and she definitely saw a pedestrian commenting with an outstretched middle finger on Mr Parker’s interpretation of a red traffic light. Finally, he stopped the van in front of a shoe shop in a strictly no-parking-zone. “I’ll be back in a dash,” he said. “Just need to get a little something for Mrs Parker.”

“But…” Charlotte started, but he was gone already. She turned around in her seat, looking out for traffic wardens and policemen. None of them in sight, fortunately, only a few pedestrians with shopping bags, and some tourists, carrying beach equipment. This seemed to be Sanditon’s high street. She had done her homework and knew that much of old Sanditon had been demolished at the beginning of the nineteenth century in a bid to turn the remote fishing village into a fashionable seaside resort, rivalling the splendour of places like Brighton and Bournemouth.

Even though Sanditon had never quite succeeded in that bid, the glory of that period was still alive in the elegant buildings forming the centre of town, and in the names echoing Regency history: Waterloo Terrace, Wellington Crescent, Trafalgar House. The last one was a large sandstone building on the corner of the street, accommodating the local library, a café and the Sanditon Museum.

Charlotte looked further around. The shoe shop into which Mr Parker had vanished was called Heely’s. There was also a flower shop, a bakery and, on the other side of the street, a pub: not the White Swan, but the Crown.

By some miracle (or some sensible policies) Sanditon’s high street had been spared from the flashy signs and the uniformity of coffee shops and retailer chains. Most shops and cafés seemed to be individual businesses, lending the street a timeless and unique character. Charlotte smiled to herself. She liked what she saw, and she would have a great summer here.

A sharp knock on the window woke her from her reverie: There he was, a police constable out on patrol.

“Ahem,” he said as she was opening the window. “This is a strictly no-parking-zone. You are barring the traffic. Don’t you see the sign?” The sign was, of course, just in front of the van.

“I’m sorry, I’m with Mr Parker…”

“Traffic rules also apply to Mr Thomas Parker.” The Constable seemed to be the strict type, a middle-aged man eyeing her with dark eyes in a pale face with long sideburns. “However much Sanditon owes to the Parker family, now Mr Parker owes Sanditon a fine of seventy pounds. – Are you a guest at the Grand Hotel?”

“No. I’m Mr Parker’s new trainee. My name is Charlotte Heywood.”

“I see. Well, Miss Heywood. Welcome to Sanditon. As I said, traffic rules also apply to…”

“Hanky!” Mr Parker’s sleek redhead appeared behind the constable. “How glad I am to catch you! I see you have met Miss Heywood? Miss Heywood has just graduated from hotel management school. She’ll be my trainee until the end of the summer. A very ambitious young lady. – How old are you again, my dear?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Only twenty-one! And yet out to leave her mark in the hotel industry. – Miss Heywood, this is Constable Hankins, our local man for law and order – not that there are many violators of law and order here in Sanditon.” He chuckled. The Constable cleared his throat.

“I was actually just informing Miss Heywood on the infringement of the parking law that is occurring right here with your car, Mr Parker.”

“Infringement? Parking law? – No, no, my dear Constable, this was an emergency. I had to jump into Heely’s to pick up Mrs Parker’s shoes for the ball… we can’t have the hostess of the Sanditon Spring Ball walk about like Cinderella with no shoes on, can we? – Will we see you at the ball, Mr Hankins?”

The Constable was staring at Mr Parker, his face a picture of amazement. “I… um… I did not expect… such an occasion…”

“But of course you have to join us! I’ll make sure you get a place at the best table… now, if you’ll excuse us, we must dash – the girls are waiting. – See you on Saturday, Constable!”

“Good-bye, Mr Parker, Miss Heywood,” the Constable mumbled.

“Good-bye, Mr Hankins,” Charlotte said, wondering whether she had in fact just witnessed her new employer bribing the local policeman.

“Ah, the pleasures of small-town life,” Mr Parker said as he jumped into the car (for some reason, he always seemed to be on the jump). “There’s no trouble that you cannot talk away if you know who you are talking to. But I’m sure you’re aware of that, Miss Heywood. You’re from a small place yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Willingden. In Herefordshire. - My father breeds Black Herefords,” she added. But she could not remember her father ever bribing a policeman or any other official. On the other hand, her father never did anything worth bribing anyone, and neither did their neighbours. Apart from an annual mixed cricket match in which Upper Willingden played Nether Willingden, nothing ever happened there.

“Splendid. Splendid!” Mr Parker said, navigating the van through the heavy afternoon traffic towards the outskirts of the town. Charlotte registered bills announcing the annual Sanditon Spring Ball and slightly worn out looking banners celebrating the two hundredth anniversary of Sanditon’s status as a seaside resort (“Better than Brighton since 1816” and “A fresh breeze for two-hundred years”). “Ah,” Mr Parker said, noticing her interest. “That was last year. Next year we’ll be celebrating one-hundred-fifty years of the Sanditon Grand Hotel, of course. You know it has been in the Parker family ever since?”

Charlotte nodded. In fact, that was one of the reasons why she had applied at the Sanditon Grand Hotel for her traineeship in the first place. Most of her colleagues from hotel management school had taken the safe options of placements within one of the big international hotel chains. A successful traineeship there always guaranteed a management job and quick promotion. She, however, had been fascinated by the Sanditon Grand Hotel’s history as a privately owned hotel that had opened in Victorian times and was still managed by the same owner family with an enthusiasm that seemed to outlast centuries.

“Henry Parker,” Mr Parker said. “My great-great-great-great-grandfather. He laid the foundation stones for the hotel. But it was his father, of course, whose vision of a seaside resort changed Sanditon’s fate.”

Intriguing as the story was, Charlotte was slightly worried by the fact that Mr Parker had let go of the steering wheel to count down the number of “great” in his ancestor with his fingers. Fortunately, they had left the main road and were turning now into a more quiet street that ended in front of a modern school building. Two girls of about seven and nine years jumped off the school’s swing gate, grabbed their satchels and started running towards the van.

Mr Parker got out, opened the back door for them and gave them a tight hug before they climbed in. “Jenny, Alicia, this is Charlotte Heywood, our new trainee. Miss Heywood, meet the next Parker generation.” They were cute little girls with piggy tails and big smiles on their happy faces. Charlotte immediately smiled back, thinking of her little sisters at home, especially as they started chattering away about their day at school.

Alicia’s highlight was the wooden boat she had constructed – complete with a sail -, and Jenny had enjoyed a lesson of local history and was now bursting with details about the possible invasion of the French fleet more than two hundred years ago. In between, they found time to ask whether Charlotte knew how to build a sandcastle, and whether she could swim, and if so, whether she would like to go to the beach with them. They were the two most charming little ladies, and Charlotte could not help but shake their sticky hands and promise them an afternoon by the sea as soon as her rota allowed it.

“And Henry and Jamie must stay at home,” Jenny said. “We don’t want to have any boys with us.”

“But Uncle Sidney can come,” Alicia suggested. This led to a vivid discussion about whether Uncle Sidney qualified as a boy, which would exclude him from the excursion, and whether an exception could be made for him.

“Sidney is one of my younger brothers,” Mr Parker explained to Charlotte. “Hardly ever here, more in London and everywhere. They dote on him.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, taken aback for a reason she did not quite understand. In the meantime, Jenny and Alicia had come to the conclusion that Uncle Sidney was neither a man nor a boy, but simply Uncle Sidney, and was therefore allowed to join them for their outing on the beach.

They had left the town behind them and turned into the access road that wound its way uphill to the clifftop and the hotel. To their right, the blue waters of the English Channel shimmered in the late afternoon light, and to their left, the immaculate greens of the Sanditon golf course stretched downhill towards a stately home surrounded by woodlands. “Sanditon House,” Mr Parker said. “Home to the Denham family. Old Sanditon nobility. Lady Denham is my business partner. You’ll meet her soon enough; she likes to meddle with everyone and everything. – Oh! Watch out!” This was directed at the driver of a golf cart that quickly dodged off to the other side of the driveway. After nearly killing one of his paying guests, Mr Parker finally concentrated on the road.

The last turn of the road brought them to the parking lot in front of the Sanditon Grand Hotel. The girls jumped out of the car and into the arms of a slightly worn-out looking woman who was accompanied by a blonde little boy. “Mummy, Mummy, this is Charlotte,” Jenny said, and Alicia added: “And she’s going to the beach with us and Uncle Sidney, and we are going to build a huge sandcastle, and the boys are not allowed to come.”

“Welcome to Sanditon, Charlotte,” Mrs Parker said, stroking her daughters’ heads and smiling apologetically. “I hope the girls haven’t exhausted you before you’ve even arrived.”

“Not at all,” Charlotte said. “They make me feel quite at home. I have four little sisters.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Mrs Parker had a warm smile. “This is Henry, by the way. Say hello to Charlotte, Henry.”

“Hullo,” Henry mumbled, giggling and hiding his chubby face in his hands. Charlotte realised that she was falling in love – if not with Mr Parker’s driving style, then with his children.

Right now, Mr Parker was unloading Charlotte’s luggage. His wife led her into the hotel that was, in fact, residing like a proud white swan on the top of the cliffs above the town: a white five-storey building with wrought-iron balconies in front of every window and a little tower headed by a cupola on each corner.

Charlotte was no expert in architecture, yet she did spot the marked difference to the elegant Regency buildings that made up Sanditon’s town centre. If one wanted to be unkind, one would say that the hotel looked like a massive cream cake that had landed on top of the cliff by accident. If one had done one’s reading (and Charlotte certainly had), one knew that the Sanditon Grand Hotel’s architecture was a fine example of Italian influence on Victorian ideas, that it featured one of the first elevators in Britain, and that the whole structure, sitting on the clifftop as it was, was just another stunning proof of superior Victorian engineering.

“Welcome to the Sanditon Grand Hotel,” Mr Parker beamed as Charlotte walked into the lobby. This was like entering a time-capsule, even though Charlotte was not quite sure which time she had landed in. As it was Victorian, she had expected the place to be dark and overcrowded, yet nothing could be further from reality. Crowded it was, with glass cabinets and prints and pictures covering the cream-coloured walls, but dark it was not: the sun, now sitting lower above the horizon and reflected by the sea, beamed in through the many windows, lending the lobby a Mediterranean atmosphere.

The Reception desk to the left was staffed by a slender redhead with a slightly haughty expression not quite befitting her position as the welcoming face of the hotel. “This is Esther,” Mr Parker said. “Our head receptionist. Esther, meet Charlotte Heywood, our management trainee for this summer.” As the switchboard started ringing at this moment, Esther merely greeted Charlotte with a curt nod, then picked up the phone and started discussing the room status of the Denham Suite with someone called Clara.

“Right,” Mr Parker said, taking Henry from his wife and settling him on his shoulders. “Mrs Parker will show you to your accommodation, Charlotte. And us boys will go back to managing the hotel, shall we, Henry?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Henry said, added: “Yeeeaa!” and whipped his father as if he was a horse. Mr Parker duly started galloping towards the Reception’s back office.

“Men,” Mrs Parker said with an indulgent smile. “Give me that bag, Charlotte. We’ll take the elevator.”

The elevator (which thankfully had been replaced since its first installation in 1868) brought them up to the top floor. “This used to be the staff accommodation back in the old days when all personnel were living in,” Mrs Parker explained. “Now it’s only for our seasonal workers. – You are in the former housekeeper’s apartment,” she added, opening a door and handing Charlotte the keys. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Like it? She loved it at first glance. The former housekeeper’s apartment consisted of not much more than a walk-in-wardrobe, a window-less bathroom, a basic kitchenette and one room with a sofa bed, but that one room had three windows overlooking the sea and was filled with glaring sunlight. It was like stepping into the blue of the sky.

“It’s wonderful,” Charlotte said, putting down her suitcase and turning to Mrs Parker. “I’ve never had an apartment all to myself before.” At home, she had been sharing a room with her younger sisters, and in Bristol, while studying hotel management, she was in a flatshare with three other girls.

Mrs Parker briefly touched her arm and smiled at her. “Very well. Settle in, and then join me in the Conservatory Tea Room, and we’ll discuss everything regarding your traineeship.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, and as soon as Mrs Parker had left, she sat down on the sofa-bed, looked around her, shook her head and smiled: this was going to be the best summer of her life.


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charlotte meets the Parker siblings – some of them in person, others not (yet).

Charlotte was so busy enjoying the lovely view from her room and listening to the far roll of the waves that she nearly forgot to go down to the Conservatory and meet Mrs Parker. There was so much to see from her window – the seagulls scanning the sky, the sea stretching endlessly into the mist that hid the coast of France, the famous sandy beach to which Sanditon owed its name, the estuary of the river that entered the Channel on the other side of the town, the greens of the golf court leading down to the woodlands around Sanditon House, and beyond that the gentle hills of the South Downs rolling towards the horizon, dotted with farms, churches and villages.

Standing at the windows of that tiny apartment, Charlotte felt as if she was the winner of a lottery, and if that win was connected to a whole lot of work in the hotel, she did not mind. There were plenty of hours in the day, and if nothing else, she would always find time to stand by her window and enjoy the view. She took pictures of the room and the sea and sent them to her family, then remembered her appointment with her new employers, quickly washed her hands, straightened the collar of her blouse and combed her hair.

She decided not to use the elevator (she slightly distrusted its mechanics, even if they had been renewed since 1868) but the grand staircase leading down five flights to the lobby. The landing of the first floor was dominated by the life-size painting of a Regency gentleman.

Standing in front of what was clearly a view of old Sanditon, he was wearing a tight-fitting brown jacket, equally tight-fitting cream-coloured pantaloons and black boots. His right hand was placed inside his jacket and on top of his heart as if he were Napoleon, and his left hand held a cane at an angle that suggested he was going to twirl it around any second. His large blue eyes gazed out into a distance – or a future – only visible to himself. This must be the first Mr Parker, the great projector, the visionary who more than two-hundred years ago had instigated Sanditon’s development as a seaside resort.

The painting was only the beginning of a family gallery covering the wall down to the ground floor. Charlotte regarded generation after generation of Parker faces, Victorian gentlemen sporting long and bushy beards, tight-waisted ladies wearing corsets and crinolines, moving on to the sleeker style of the Edwardian area. She saw a photograph of the hotel under the flag of the Red Cross (she had read that it had served as a hospital and recovery home during both wars), and further down the stairs, the ladies’ skirts and hair grew shorter, arriving in the roaring Twenties. As hairstyles and dress-codes changed during the last century and black-and-white photographs turned into colour, one thing remained unaltered in most pictures: the white silhouette of the Sanditon Grand Hotel in the background. 

The gallery ended close to the bottom of the stairs with a family photograph of the Parkers she had just met. But hanging above it was another one that drew Charlotte’s attention. She had to stretch her head to take it in: It was an A3-sized shot of a dark-haired man in his late twenties, leaning against the polished engine cowling of a vintage car, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of defiance and self-confidence. Charlotte could not help but stare at him _. I would love to meet this man,_ she thought, and then she scolded herself for thinking such nonsense.

“I think they put him here only to make sure that female guests stay on in the hope of meeting a good-looking man,” someone said next to her. She turned her head and saw Esther, the haughty head receptionist, standing behind her on the stairs and regarding the photograph as well. “That’s Sidney. The successful Parker brother. Tom Parker is a monomaniac who is going to ruin us all, and Arthur is a buffoon, as no doubt you are about to find out, but Sidney…” She let the name trail away, then shook her head. “Very unsteady and unreliable. I advise you to be on your guard.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, feeling sheepish. How to react to such a disparagement of her new employer by one of her future colleagues? And how to spend a day on the beach with the children and an uncle that looked like a film-star?

“All in all,” Esther said, returning to her place behind the reception desk, “I think you may come to regret ever setting foot in Sanditon. Why didn’t you choose a fancy boutique hotel in a place like London?”

“I’ve never really been to London,” Charlotte admitted. “And I liked the idea of spending a summer by the sea.”

Esther rolled her eyes, then glanced out of the panorama windows towards the Channel. “Sea. Sky. Isn’t it all unutterably dreary?”

No, it is not, Charlotte was about to say when Mrs Parker came into the lobby. “Charlotte! There you are! Come and join me in the Conservatory. – Esther, Sidney just sent a last-minute-booking for a couple of friends. Tom has forwarded the email to you, can you please check? They are to have an upgrade and adjoining rooms.”

“Sure,” Esther said, not even pretending to be enthusiastic about the task.

Charlotte followed Mrs Parker to the Conservatory Tea Room that was a winter garden with an adjoining terrace on the southern side of the hotel, facing the sea. Several tables were occupied by hotel guests, golfers and day-trippers, and as it was a sunny day, the doors to the terrace were open, letting in a fresh sea breeze. Mr Parker was sitting at a table at the back of the room. That is, as his mobile phone started ringing before his wife and Charlotte had reached him, he jumped up, grabbed his phone and started running about like a tiger in a cage while talking to an invisible someone about the Spring Ball and the necessity of bringing friends from London and the importance of it all. 

Mrs Parker, shrugging her shoulders, offered Charlotte a seat and poured her tea. “My husband has two wives,” she said. “Myself and the hotel – and I’d hesitate to say which of us he cares for most. Marrying into an old family business is very much about making allowances. You never want to be the generation that ruined two-hundred years of tradition.” She laughed softly. “At least life here at the hotel is never dull.”

“We must attract people of fashion, of influence…,” Mr Parker cried, and after a pause: “I depend on you, Sidney!” Charlotte flinched. So that was him on the other end, the unreliable, unsteady film-star-lookalike-brother. Why did it bother her? He wasn’t even her type. Her experience was anything but vast, but she could safely say that she preferred blond men with a sunny smile and a friendly disposition.

“Do try a Strawberry Secret, Charlotte,” Mrs Parker suggested, handing her a plate of delicious-looking tartlets. “My brother-in-law, Arthur, bakes them after his own secret recipe. He’s our pâtissier.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, and then she said nothing for a while, for the tartlets were really the most delicious ones she had ever tasted, the strawberries melting in her mouth with lightly scented vanilla cream and a thin layer of chocolate to add a sweet crunch. By the time Mr Parker finished his phone call, Charlotte was in love not only with the view and the Parker children but with Arthur Parker as well.

“Ah, Miss Heywood. I’m sorry for seeming distracted, but I see you are being taken care of,” Mr Parker said, folding his long body into the chair opposite Charlotte while his wife poured him a cup of tea. “That was my brother Sidney. Last-minute preparations for the Spring Ball, you see.”

“But he will bring his friends from London?” Mrs Parker asked. 

“He promised. And you know he always keeps his promises, my dear. – He’s the only one of us Parker siblings who hasn’t tied his destiny to the hotel,” Mr Parker went on to explain to Charlotte. “He’s living in London, working in the financial sector.”

“I see,” she said out of courtesy. Financial sector: now that explained the expensive vintage car in his photograph. She added “superficial” to her growing list of Sidney Parker’s characteristics: self-confident, unreliable, unsteady, ambitious, very good-looking (and well aware of it).

“But we are not here to discuss Sidney,” her new employer concluded. “We are here to talk about you, Miss Heywood.” – and that’s what they finally did. She was going to support Mr Parker in all operative areas, but mainly in the hotel’s administration. That used to be his wife’s part, but with the girls, little Henry and baby Jamie to look after Mrs Parker barely ever had a minute to spare to open the accounting folders. Apart from administrative tasks, Charlotte would lend a hand whenever and wherever needed – and this being a hotel business moving towards the high season, helping hands would soon be in high demand. She had expected nothing different. It was just as Mrs Parker had said: life in the hotel was never dull.

The next great function was, of course, the famous Spring Ball on Saturday night. Mr Parker told her that the tradition of balls in Sanditon dated back to Regency times when they were held practically every week to draw the crowds from London. These days, there was only the Spring Ball in May left, plus the Midsummer Ball in June, the End-of-Season-Ball in September and finally the highlight of the year, the Annual Sanditon Christmas Ball on Boxing Day.

“And from May to September, there is at least one wedding every weekend,” Mr Parker said. “So you see, we always have a reason to celebrate. – Ha!” He tapped on his phone and dictated: “Sanditon: Always a reason to celebrate. - You’re quite inspiring when it comes to slogans, Miss Heywood.”

“I assume I’ll support the service crew during the ball?” Charlotte asked.

“I see you think ahead. Excellent! Yes, we’ll need any help we can get. Clara will take care of your uniform. Clara is our housekeeper. I hope you have brought a comfortable pair of shoes?”

“I have,” Charlotte said with a smile. “I have worked in catering before.”

“Splendid.” Mr Parker said with a satisfied smile. “I think we’ll get along very well, Miss Heywood. Very well indeed.”

Charlotte, returning his smile, was thinking exactly the same.

The next morning, Charlotte was awoken at the ungodly hour of half-past four by the gentle buzzing of her phone. It was a message from her father, who usually rose at this time. Probably he had been to bed already the night before when she had sent her family more enthusiastic texts and pictures from her first evening walk along the beach.

 _Just be careful,_ her father wrote in his usual monosyllabic style.

 _Careful of what, Daddy?_ she asked with a smiley.

 _Everything!_ he replied within seconds.

Charlotte shook her head. She dearly loved her father, but his assumption that everywhere beyond a five-mile boundary around Willingden was dangerous territory, potentially inhabited by manipulating, disingenuous people, was a bit embarrassing. They had had exactly the same dialogue when she had moved to Bristol three years ago to start her studies, and when she had gone abroad for the first time. 

She put the phone aside and climbed out of bed. Now that she was awake, she could as well have a cup of tea and watch the sun rise above the sea. 

It was a long sunrise. And she did not only watch the sunrise and its reflection on the sea, but also a small flotilla of fishing boats leaving Sanditon’s tiny port, and a group of early shell seekers combing the flotsam, and a large herring gull balancing along the gutter in front of her window. Its head plumage was slightly damaged, and it spied in on Charlotte with wise yellow eyes.

After a quick breakfast, she went down to the lobby to meet Mrs Parker. She took the stairs again, turning her head away when she passed Sidney Parker’s picture. He was of no interest to her at all. The reception desk was not staffed by Esther, but by a young blond girl that could barely be out of school. Mrs Parker presented her as “Julia, one of the Beaufort sisters”. Julia seemed to be much more fascinated by the messages on her phone than by Charlotte.

After a quick tour around Reception – there was the back office, and Mr Parker’s office behind it – Mrs Parker took her new employee to meet the housekeeper. Clara was a delicate blonde beauty, a little older than Charlotte, friendly and communicative and obviously well prepared, for she had Charlotte’s black service uniform ready. “I can add a few stitches if you need anything changed,” she said, but the fitting went well, and with her uniform and a potential friend, Charlotte felt even more at home. 

Mrs Parker proceeded to show her around the hotel: After the housekeeping staff, she met the service staff in the Conservatory where breakfast still in progress. In the adjoining kitchen it was hot and busy as usual – and especially now at breakfast time, when every guest asked for bacon and eggs and sausages and grilled tomatoes and baked beans – but in one quiet corner, Charlotte met the youngest Parker brother: Arthur the pâtissier, a stout, dark-haired man with a healthy colour in his face who seemed to be enjoying his own tasty tartlets a little too often and a little too much. Right now he was busy decorating delicate petit fours, a task he took to very carefully and attentively. He finished a tiny chocolate arc on one before he looked up. 

“Good morning, Arthur,” his sister-in-law said. “I want you to meet Charlotte Heywood, Tom’s new trainee.”

“Miss Heywood.” Arthur Parker beamed at Charlotte in a way that made it impossible for her not to beam back. “I heard you have tried one of my Strawberry Secrets already?”

“I did, and it was wonderful.” 

“I shall call on you whenever I need someone to sample a new creation,” he suggested.

“And I’ll be glad to help,” she replied. 

“He’s a real artist,” Mrs Parker said when they were leaving the kitchen. “You should see the cakes he makes for the children’s birthdays. Unicorns and pink elephants and such things.”

The tour of the house continued down to the maintenance department and store rooms in the basement and again up to the function rooms on the first floor. In the largest one, they startled Manoel, the F&B manager, who was preparing the room for Saturday’s big event. Mrs Parker introduced Charlotte and then quickly explained that the Sanditon Grand Hotel’s ballroom was actually a replica of Sanditon’s Regency assembly rooms that had been lost during a fire, and then they let Manoel do his work. 

After looking at several hotel rooms, their last stop was the gym and wellness area on the ground floor. It was managed by Mr Parker’s only sister, Diana, a talkative and cheerful person in her thirties who gave Charlotte good advice about how to prevent blisters and an aching back during her service duty on the evening of the ball. Charlotte thought that even without knowing the mysterious Sidney, she had never met three siblings so different in their looks and so equal in their commitment to their work. Their love for their family’s hotel seemed to be an affliction, and a highly contagious one when it came to Charlotte.

They continued their tour outside. By that stage, Mrs Parker had insisted in not being Mrs Parker to Charlotte, but Mary, and Mary showed Charlotte her husband’s current project: an extension called Regency Row which consisted of apartments for families and guests preferring self-catering. The apartment buildings were erected strictly in Regency style and in a half-moon around an open lawn offering a wide view down the cliff slope and towards the town. “This is beautiful!” Charlotte cried. “It’s like travelling back in time!” 

Mary smiled proudly. “It is, isn’t it? Tom is so excited about it. It’s not yet finished, but we hope to sell the first units with the beginning of the holiday season after the Midsummer Ball.” Charlotte peeped through the windows, but there was not much to see yet apart from scaffolding.

“Was that Mr Parker’s idea?”

“Yes. He’s always bursting with plans and enthusiasm. Sometimes I fear he will tear down the whole hotel and build a new one, just for the excitement of it.”

“Surely it’s a protected monument?”

“It is, fortunately. – Now, Charlotte, let’s walk down to the golf course and make you meet England’s most noble golf instructor.”

England’s most noble golf instructor, as it turned out, was called Edward Denham, nephew of the great Lady Denham, patroness of the town and of Tom Parker’s business ventures. He was a tall and well-built young man with a head full of carefully coiffed blond curls. Yet, despite Charlotte’s marked preference for fair men, there was something about him that made her recoil from him. Maybe it was the too exaggerated ardour with which he professed his joy about meeting her, or just the way he let his eyes travel up and down her body as if working out where best to touch her. She could very well imagine him complimenting elderly single ladies on their tee-off, but she could not imagine watching the sunset with him. 

“He’s _Sir_ Edward Denham,” Mary explained on their way back to the hotel. “And when his aunt dies, he’ll be a rich man.”

“I’ll rather have a good man than a rich man,” Charlotte said without thinking, remembering Edward’s creepy eyes again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mary said. “I didn’t mean to matchmake. Besides, the girl who’s taking on Edward Denham will have to deal with all his family, too.”

“Are there so many Denhams?” Charlotte was not afraid of large families, coming from one herself. 

“Apart from Lady Denham, who is a self-professed dragon, there is his step-sister, our charming Esther…”

“Esther? Really?”

“… and our housekeeper, Clara. They are cousins, somehow, I think. Two-hundred years ago they would have been allowed to spend their lives in idleness and ennui, but these days, they have to work like all mortals. Lady Denham regularly threats to leave her money not to them, but to the local animal shelter, and then they start working a little harder for a while.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. She _is_ a dragon, Lady Denham – probably the last one in all of Britain.”

“Then I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Charlotte proclaimed optimistically. Who would have thought that in a small town like Sanditon, there were so many interesting people to meet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter’s title is “Piles and Prejudices”. It’s the one in which Tom Parker creates a mess (again), Charlotte contemplates love, and someone returns to Sanditon.


	3. Piles and Prejudices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tom Parker creates a mess (again), Charlotte contemplates love, and someone returns to Sanditon.

After lunch on Friday afternoon, Charlotte joined Mr Parker in his office behind the reception desk. “The other Beaufort girl”, Phillida, was on duty now. She was as young and inexperienced as her sister and equally fascinated by the contents of her phone.

Charlotte wondered why Mr Parker tolerated such behaviour. As far as she knew, the girls were paid for looking after the hotel guests, not for checking their Instagram accounts. And there were plenty of guests, asking for the Wifi-password, for breakfast times, for the way to the wellness area, for bathrobes and slippers, for restaurant recommendations, train times to Brighton, rental bikes and the opening hours of basically all sights between Hastings and Chichester.

“Mr Parker, is it true that your brother is coming down from London for the ball?” Phillida asked between a guest and a glance at her phone screen.

“Of course he is, my dear,” Mr Parker said. “He’s always coming down to Sanditon for our events.”

“It’s only … there isn’t a room booked for him just yet.”

“Oh, he’ll stay in our spare room… or one of the empty staff rooms upstairs. Would you mind a neighbour, Charlotte?”

“Of course not,” she lied, reddening deeply. Without having met the man, she was absolutely sure she did want to sleep wall to wall with him. Phillida giggled, and Mr Parker said: “Splendid”. Then his phone started ringing.

He discussed the appropriate colour of bathroom tiles with someone called Stringer for a few minutes, but just when he called off, his phone started ringing again. This time it was Lady Denham herself, and all Charlotte gathered from the conversation was that it was about contracts, bank and a signature.

She took the time to have a look around the office. Mr Parker’s desk, as well as parts of the carpet, were covered by piles of papers that looked too delicate to touch or move. The folders labelled “Accounting” were stacked in a shelf behind the desk, yet the labelling ended about eighteen months ago, which must have been about the time when Mary got pregnant with little Jamie.

Charlotte decided to go through this as methodically as possible. She spent most of the afternoon running through the piles and sorting their contents in new piles: incoming invoices to her right, outgoing invoices to her left, delivery notes next to the incoming invoices, and reminders (yes, there were several) next to them, general correspondence in front of her.

While she was at work, Mr Parker continued to talk on the phone on the other side of the table, and when he was not talking, he typed by stomping his index fingers on the keyboard of his laptop, taking a painfully long time to complete whatever he was writing. From time to time, a member of staff knocked on the open door – Manoel, the F&B Manager, updating him on the state of the preparations for the ball, and Clara, going through the VIP list for the weekend, followed by Esther, also wishing to go through the VIP list. 

More than once, Mr Parker jumped up, cried “Ha!” as if he had discovered Archimedes’ Principle, and in unintelligible handwriting scribbled something on the whiteboard behind his desk. “You’re stimulating my creativity, Charlotte,” he said on one such occasion. The whiteboard, he explained to her, was his notepad. Bursting of ideas as he was, he would classify and follow them up later. Then his phone started ringing again, and he was back to talking to Lady Denham about a contract and a missing signature.

There was no end to a hotel manager’s working day, Mr Parker said after ringing off, but there was for Charlotte, as she was only a trainee. She was free to spend the evening as she liked, and what she liked best was to walk along the cliff and all the way down to the beach and enjoy the last rays of sunshine.

The next day was the day of the famous ball. Even though she was not to attend as a guest, but as part of the service crew, Charlotte felt a certain note of anticipation. And she was not the only one. When she came to the office that morning, Mr Parker, very red in the face, was running wild.

The wine merchant had failed to deliver on time, the temp agency had cancelled two waiters for the evening, there was no word from his brother Sidney – or his famous friends – on when they would be arriving ( _if_ they were arriving at all). And, worst of all, someone (no names, please) had messed up thoroughly and forgotten to take a signature from Lady Denham for a super-important document that had to be presented to the bank on Monday morning. “Can’t you ask Lady Denham to sign it at the ball tonight?” Mary asked, having followed her husband to his office and carrying Jamie with her. 

“No, my dear, that is out of the question. A ball is a ball and not a place for bank business. It would be highly unprofessional to bother Lady D with these matters during such an event.” It was also highly unprofessional to forget a vital signature – but if that thought was on anybody’s mind, they did not say it.

“You look after Jamie, and I’ll go to Lady D,” Mary said. “I’ll take Charlotte with me – she has yet to meet her ladyship anyway. We’ll take a golf cart, dash down to Sanditon House, get that signature and return immediately. We’ll be back in an hour and we’ll have enough time to get everything done for tonight.”

“My dear.” Mr Parker shook his head in admiration. “Where would I be without you?”

“I wonder,” Mary said with an indulgent smile. Charlotte watched them kiss good-bye over Jamie’s head and asked herself what it would be like to be loved so unconditionally – and whether she would ever meet someone who loved her like that.

*

Sidney Parker’s week had not been good so far. 

He had spent a considerable amount of time doing what he did for a living – trading stocks for his clients, thereby making as much profit as possible for them. He was good at it - brilliant, actually -, and he knew it was terribly clichéd, but sometimes he wished he was earning his living by doing something really useful, like saving puppies from animal testing, or building wells in remote desert villages, or teaching children in developing countries how to read and to write.

So far, his most successful bid at being a better person was to regularly donate some of his precious blood to the NHS – but even for that, he got paid. And whenever he saw a new commission fee from one of his clients credited to his account he understood that as long as saving puppies, building wells and teaching children the alphabet was not as well paid as making rich people even richer, he was going to stick with the stock market.

Between trading this week, he had spent a considerable amount of time on the phone, cajoling Babington and Crowe into meeting him at the Sanditon Grand Hotel for the weekend. A favour for his brother Tom (who was excellent at demanding favours and far worse at returning them). It was the weekend of the Spring Ball, and it did say much about the splendour of the occasion that Tom believed a minor lordship and a self-styled influencer would add some shine. As a bonus, Sidney thought, rolling his eyes, he would have to endure his friends’ puns about the non-existing joys of Sanditon until the end of all days.

And as if all that was not bad enough, he now had the added burden of what he called “the Lambe-situation”. Just another small favour, this time for his mentor, George Lambe, and it had backfired terribly. What did one do with a troubled seventeen-year-old girl? Sidney had no idea. He knew a lot about _little_ girls, thanks to his nieces (and thinking of them made him actually smile), but he did doubt that Gigi Lambe could be pacified with the promise of building a sandcastle and playing shuttlecock on Sanditon’s beach.

So the two hours he spent driving down from London to Sanditon on Saturday morning promised to be the best two hours of the week, and he enjoyed them, turning the radio to full volume and opening the roof of the Aston Martin as soon as he had left the motorway. It was a fine fresh day, but there was a light breeze from the sea, ruffling his hair. There was also a whiff of saltwater and wet seaweed in the air: the smells of home.

When he passed the town sign (“Welcome to Sanditon, home to sea-bathing”, with an ancient bathing machine painted next to it), he felt the familiar frustration creep up inside of him, a frustration that always left him ill-tempered.

Sanditon was a beautiful little town, his forefathers had done well on that, and its location between the river estuary and the clifftop plus the wide beach was truly unequalled. Yet, it always felt as if the last time anything substantial had happened here was two hundred years ago. Admirable as his brother’s efforts at reviving the place were, in the end, it was just another sleepy seaside town with little entertainment and so much less sunshine than the Costa Brava.

He drove past Tom’s worn out banners for the anniversary in 2016, turned the Aston Martin into the high street, parked in front of the Sanditon Museum, and walked over to the flower shop. His sister-in-law deserved a little something after spending days if not weeks with Tom’s nerves before the ball.

As usual, the Aston Martin drew onlookers, though not the kind of onlookers that asked how vintage it was (very, being the 1952 model), if it was really his (yes!) and how much it was worth (no comment). Constable Hankins was busy writing out a ticket, scarcely able to hide his glee when he saw Sidney coming out of the flower shop. “As I told your brother the other day, traffic rules also apply to members of the Parker family,” he said. “This is a strictly no-parking-zone.”

Sidney pocketed the ticket without a word, dropped the bunch of flowers for Mary on the passenger seat, put his sunglasses on and jumped back into the car. A bad day gone worse. He could not wait to go to the hotel’s gym and hit the punching ball as long and as hard as possible.

Just before the last bend of the driveway up to the hotel, a golf cart came chugging across the impeccable green towards the road. The woman behind the wheel waved at Sidney: the patient angel that was his sister-in-law. He stopped the Aston Martin and got out.

“Mary! Good to see you,” he said, lifting his sunglasses and walking up to meet her. A brown-haired, slightly chubby looking girl of fourteen or perhaps fifteen years was with her. “New babysitter?” he asked.

He knew immediately that it was a misstep. Seen from up close, the girl was not fourteen, but in her early twenties, and she was not chubby, but… well. As in well-formed. He would have to have his eyesight tested when he returned to London.

“Sidney!” Mary said with the slightest note of reproach. “This is Charlotte Heywood, Tom’s management trainee for this summer.”

Oh Lord, not another one of Tom’s trainees. His hopes, which had risen for a second, were deflated immediately. He had no idea where his brother acquired them every year again: graduates from hotel management school voluntarily agreeing to a summer of long working hours for a joke of a salary while having to sleep in one of the sticky former staff rooms in the attic. He gave this one a half-hearted smile. “Miss…?”

“Heywood,” she said primly.

“Miss Heywood,” he repeated, squinting into the sun. Tom’s trainees came in two categories: the nerds and the flirts. This one was a nerd. 

„We are off to Lady D.’s,” Mary said. “Some last-minute business papers that have to be signed.”

“Then I won’t keep you.” With a smile at his sister-in-law and a cursory nod to Miss Heywood, Sidney jumped back into his car and drove off. That punching ball in the gym could not be hit soon enough.

*

_New babysitter!_ Charlotte watched the Aston Martin disappear beyond the bend of the road. 

“He is so good,” Mary said, starting the golf cart again. “He has so many concerns, but we can always count on him. He can be abrupt and inattentive, as he was just now with you, but he has a good heart.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Charlotte could barely hide her doubt. _Idiot,_ she added to her ever-growing list of Sidney Parker’s characteristics: self-confident, unreliable, unsteady, ambitious, superficial, probably in need of strong glasses but too vain to wear them. 

“I do worry about his own happiness though,” Mary continued. 

_Well, I don’t,_ Charlotte thought.

“I should like to see him settled, but I fear it is not in his nature. He’s never brought a girl to Sanditon since… anyway. Not our concern.” 

Maybe he is gay, Charlotte mused. But this was 2017, not 1817: nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be punished for. And the Parker family seemed to be unprejudiced and open-minded enough. So what was wrong with that man? It was a conundrum, and she had not solved it by the time they had reached Sanditon House, Lady Denham’s anything but humble abode. 

Lady Denham turned out to be precisely the dragon she had been described as, a short and sturdy lady in her seventies with an alarming tuff of grey hair and a clothing style that seemed to be stuck somewhere in the seventies as well. She grudgingly signed the papers Mary Parker presented, not missing the opportunity to criticise Mr Parker’s business style, and openly asked Charlotte about her career plans. “A girl must have a career these days,” she said. “I keep preaching Clara and Esther. It’s not like back in the old times when you could find yourself a fine rich husband, and be sure you were provided for until the end of your life once you had given birth to an heir and his spare.”

“I doubt it was ever that simple,” Charlotte said. “I believe that even in the old times people would have preferred to marry out of love and affection and that they would have had cares and worries and struggles and disappointments to overcome.”

“You’re very opinionated,” Lady Denham said, eyeing her with fresh interest. “So what were your plans again?”

“I hope to gain as much experience as possible in the hotel industry. One day, I might go back to Willingden and help my eldest brother when he takes over the farm from our father. He has ideas about sustainable farming and converting some of the outbuildings into tourist accommodation.”

“I see,” Lady Denham said with a yawn.

They left soon afterwards, Mary directing the golf cart through Lady Denham’s park and then across the golf course. Charlotte was in no particular hurry to return home, and she immediately relented when Mary suggested to drop her off on the driveway so that she could walk along the cliff back to the hotel, enjoy the view and relax a little before taking on her duties as part of the service crew for the evening event. 

This was an exceptionally beautiful spot of the Sussex coast, with the cliff rising high above a coastline full of secret coves and wild rocks ragged by the sea. Further to the right, where the hillside flattened out towards the estuary, Sanditon’s wide beach stretched along the promenade and the buildings of the town.

 _I’ll never get tired of this view_ , Charlotte thought. She was on the public footpath now, populated by a weekend crowd of Nordic walkers, mountain bikers, joggers and tourists, all of them passing the Sanditon Grand Hotel. This place must be a gold mine, she speculated. Imagine sitting on that terrace above the sea and enjoying the view while savouring a good cup of tea and one (or two) of Arthur Parker’s Strawberry Secrets. The only thing missing was a sign to the terrace and a hint that such a wonderful treasure as Arthur Parker’s Strawberry Secrets could be found there. I’ll ask Mr Parker about it, Charlotte decided when she entered the hotel through the staff entrance in the basement.

She took the elevator up to her apartment in the attic, meeting and greeting some guests on the way and mentally designing some posters for the elevator’s walls to advertise Arthur Parker’s artistry. It was only when she got out her keys that she remembered what Mr Parker had said about putting his brother up in one of the other spare attic rooms. It certainly seemed as if she had a neighbour, for there was a noise on the otherwise empty corridor. Maybe Sidney Parker was exercising, doing push-ups or sit-ups or whatever he did to keep his, well, glorious shape. But would he do anything that sounded like a sledgehammer hitting the wall? And the noise was closer to the elevator than to the rooms. Charlotte looked around. Next to the elevator shaft and the staircase was a door marked “Utility Room – authorised personnel only”. That was where the thumping came from, the ancient control room of the even more ancient elevator. Something must have gone wrong in there, with the hydraulics, the cables or whatever was needed to stop an elevator from plummeting downwards. Charlotte tried the door.

To her surprise, it did open.

 _That’s not ok_ , she thought. _This door has to be locked_ … and then she wished it had been locked, or she had not tried it, or she had returned later – or the housekeeper and the golf instructor had just thought of locking up from inside. She did not see much of Edward, who had turned his back to her, but she did see enough of Clara to understand what was going on. And that look on Clara’s face, surprised and triumphant at the same time!

Charlotte blushed, slammed the door shut behind her, ran over to her own room and leaned against the window until she was sure her face had returned to its normal colour. Why was she so shocked? It was none of her business. Clara and Edward were grown-up people and free to do whatever they wanted. Though why they had to do it in a scruffy, dusty utility room was beyond her understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is called “One Assumption Too Many”.


	4. One Assumption Too Many

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and kudos for the first three chapters. It's always a bit of an adventure to hit that "post" button. As I don't like to keep readers dangling, I will try to update this every one or two days.
> 
> And now: Please enjoy the first ball of the season.

At least there were Arthur’s Strawberry Secrets to console him. Sidney would have preferred a Chivas Regal, but it was too early in the day for the strong stuff. He still had not managed to hit that punching ball. Instead, he had been waylaid by Tom on the stairs to the gym and lured into the Conservatory for some brother-talk. “I’ve never been so pleased to see you,” Tom said. “But you are not alone, are you? I had thought you would bring some friends with you.”

“Rest easy. Babington and Crowe are on their way down to Sanditon right now. They’ll be in time for the ball.” If they did not take a detour to the casino in Brighton on the way and got stuck there. 

“Splendid. Splendid! I knew I could depend on you, Sidney. London’s society shining bright in Sanditon – even Lady Denham will have to concede that we are well on our way to becoming one of Britain’s top holiday destinations.”

Sidney’s mouth twitched. He would not have described his friends as the shining beacons of London’s society. Crowe enjoyed a certain popularity due to his Instagram account that defied all rules of social media. Babington’s mother was rumoured to have had an affair with the Prince of Wales once, long time before the Prince’s wedding with the ill-fated Lady Diana, and also a long time before her marriage and the birth of her only son, but that was about as glamorous as it got. “Is everything ok, Tom?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” His brother hastily stuffed another bite of Strawberry Secret into his mouth.

“And the extension? All going according to plan on Regency Row?”

“Sure.” Tom gulped. “The first units are sold for the summer. I think we’ll open by the time of the Midsummer Ball. Stringer Junior is very enthusiastic.”

“Good,” Sidney said. He had met Tom’s new architect a couple of times and knew that he was a keen and ambitious young man whose only fault was his lack of experience. Which on the other hand meant that he charged lower fees. He sighed. “And on the financial side? Any trouble?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing to worry you. You know how it is, Sidney – everyone’s a bit tight after the winter. But that’s old news as soon as the wedding season starts. And then I’ve got Miss Heywood now to assist me with the accounts. A very capable young woman.”

“Is she,” Sidney mumbled. Tom’s assessment of other people was nothing he had a deep trust in. His brother’s criteria were simple: Whoever fell in love with his hotel was a good person. Thankfully, his phone started ringing before he had to discuss Miss Heywood’s capabilities any further. It was Gigi Lambe’s headmistress, making sure for the tenth time that he would show up Sunday at around lunchtime and relieve her of her former charge. By the time he had finished the call, he was in desperate need of that punching ball in the gym.

*

Charlotte was exceedingly excited about the ball – even if it meant following the orders of the F&B manager and balancing trays full of champagne glasses through a crowd of people for a whole night. At her temp job in Bristol, functions had usually consisted of conferences or product launches, but never of a great event in a Regency style ballroom lit by one large and several small chandeliers, with a live orchestra and musicians wearing white wigs as if they had come straight out of a period drama, and a singer brought in from Glasgow only for the occasion. To Charlotte, it seemed to be the most exclusive event – even though to a Londoner it might have been nothing more than a small town’s attempt at being grand.

Positioned at the entrance and welcoming new guests with champagne flutes, she did not care that she had to work here while her colleagues enjoyed themselves. She had never been to a ball before and would have had no idea what to do or to say at such an event anyway.

Esther, looking like a stunning film star from the Forties in a green silk dress that complimented her long auburn tresses, moved towards her. “How I envy you,” she said. “The only one of us doing anything useful.”

“You can carry my tray if you like to.”

“Oh, no. I’m a Denham. My aunt doesn’t mind me selling stamps to tourists and taking orders from the pillow menu, but when it comes to an event that is likely to make it to the Sussex Observer, old rules prevail, and we are to play our part in society. - You’re quite the Cinderella, I’m afraid. And if you’re looking for a prince, I daresay this is the wrong place.”

“I’m not looking for a prince,” Charlotte said. Then she blushed, not because of the insinuation, but because Lady Denham was arriving, accompanied by a demure-looking Clara. Charlotte found it hard to meet her eye and even harder when Edward Denham appeared a few steps behind them, looking all sleek and stylish in his black tie.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think that’s Mr Parker calling me. Enjoy the evening, Esther.” – and she hurried away to the banqueting galley, collecting empty glasses on her way. How hard it was to make people out!

She used the moment of peace to adjust the pinafore on her black dress and to massage her arm before returning to the crowd. Only then did she realise that the door was blocked by the tall figure of Edward Denham. “That uniform suits you,” he said.

“Thank you.” Charlotte could not bring herself to look up at him. 

“I would like to…” He stopped, and she grabbed an empty tray to have a shield between him and herself. “What you saw today…”

“Please, would you let me do my work?”

“But I want to make sure that you should not get the wrong impression. Clara… Clara was –“

“There is absolutely no need for you to explain yourself to me,” Charlotte said with a sharpness that surprised her herself.

“But… you promise you won’t speak of it to Mr Parker? Or Lady Denham? Or anyone else?”

“Do you really think I would?” Now she was not only repulsed but angered as well. He gave her a crooked grin and let his eyes travel down her body.

“No, of course not. You’re altogether too good, too innocent, aren’t you?”

At that, thankfully, the F&B manager stormed into the galley. “What do you think you are you doing here, Heywood? Dawdling around?” Manoel said. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are two-hundred thirsty guests out there. – I’m sorry,” he added when Edward had left the scene. “He has a weakness for the female catering staff. Always goes after the new ones and tells them how pretty they look in their uniforms.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said from the bottom of her heart. 

When she started her next round of dispensing champagne, Mr Parker waved her over to a group of people he was talking to. Esther was among them, and Clara, and Sidney Parker and two other men. Those had to be the famous London friends. One of them, a tall curly-head who seemed to have forgotten his combe, immediately grabbed two glasses from her tray. “Finally something to get the motor oiled”, he said, drained the first glass and returned it.

“This is my management trainee, Charlotte Heywood,” Mr Parker said. “Charlotte, have you met my brother Sidney?”

“I have,” Charlotte said. Sidney acknowledged her with a curt nod.

“Splendid.” Mr Parker clapped his hands. “I’d like you to…. – oh, Mr Hankins! What a joy! I’m sorry, my dears, I have to welcome our expert for law and order...” – and he moved away to greet the constable who even in a black-tie still looked like a policeman. 

As the orchestra started playing a waltz, Sidney Parker’s curly-headed friend drained the second glass and put it on Charlotte’s tray, then held out his hand to Clara. “Shall we?” With a sweet smile, Clara obliged. 

Sidney Parker’s other friend, a slightly shorter, stout man with a friendly face, turned to Esther. “What about it?”

“What about what?”

“A waltz?” He had a rather kind smile and seemed not to be intimidated by the fact that with her high heels, he had to look up to her.

“Oh. I expected a verb.”

“Just waltz then. Works as a verb and as a noun.” 

Esther rolled her eyes. Yet she did accept his outstretched hand, leaving Charlotte alone with a tray of empty glasses and Sidney Parker glaring down at her. “Are you fond of dancing?” he asked after a few painful seconds.

“I am,” she admitted with a little surprise. “Though not very talented at balancing champagne flutes on my head while engaging in twist and twirls.” There was a twitch around his mouth as if he was going to break into a smile but then he stopped himself at the very last moment.

“Must be hard for you, working while everybody else is having fun.”

“It was part of the job description,” Charlotte said. “Also, I come to enjoy the more comfortable footwear. No blisters tomorrow.” This time, Sidney Parker _did_ smile, and that simple smile turned him from a good-looking man into a breath-taking film star. Even more so in a black tie, with his handsome face clean-shaven and his short dark curls neatly combed back. Charlotte cleared her throat.

“I better take care of the champagne supply. Enjoy the rest of the evening, Mr Parker.” She hurried away without turning back. 

For the next couple of hours, she was busy enough, collecting empty glasses and serving drinks, sharing smiles and a bit of small talk with the guests. Yet she made sure to keep her distance from Sidney Parker and his circle. She saw Clara and Esther dance with his friends once more, and for a second, she truly felt like Cinderella. She saw Mr Parker feeding cocktails to Constable Hankins, and then she saw Mary and Mr Parker dance together, gazing into each other’s eyes as if they were newly in love. Jenny insisted on taking her Uncle Arthur to the dancefloor. Alicia followed suit and curtseyed in front of her Uncle Sidney, who gathered her up, so that they were face to face, and waltzed with her about the room, the little girl beaming with happiness. It was the cutest thing Charlotte had seen all evening. _Maybe he really isn’t that bad after all_ , she thought.

Arthur Parker, it turned out, was quite an enthusiast, and when the orchestra had a break, and the DJ took over, he showed a startling ability to twist and turn his robust body. “Arthur!” his sister Diana cried more than once from the sideline, but the louder she cried, the merrier he danced.

Charlotte also made sure to take detours around the box from which Lady Denham watched on, mostly accompanied by her nephew who kept whispering in her ear. They were a strange family, indeed.

“Can we speak?” She nearly bumped into Clara, who suddenly stood behind her.

“Of course,” Charlotte said, catching her tray. 

“I saw Edward following you outside earlier. Was he… did he say… anything about… what you saw?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And what did he say?” Charlotte suppressed a sigh. She really was not interested in getting caught up in some relationship-meddling between these two. Clara and Edward were both old enough to know what they were doing, and as long as they were both consenting and did not resort to the utility room again, she did not care. 

“He asked me not to speak of what I have seen to Mr Parker or Lady Denham.” Clara’s doll-like eyes flared.

“And _will_ you speak of it to Mr Parker or Lady Denham?”

“What? Of course not.”

“You might if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to.” Charlotte was definitely vexed now. “It’s none of my business.”

“No, it really isn’t,” Clara said with a pensive look. “You’re far too decent for that.” Behind her, Mr Curly-Head approached, tapping her on the shoulder. 

“Can I tempt you back onto the dance floor, Clara?” With a very pretty smile, she took his hand.

“Absolutely.”

Charlotte watched the two of them walk away, Clara smiling and flirting as if she had no other care in the world. How very hard it was to make people out! Sidney Parker, that superficial idiot, turning into a rather sweet uncle, and Clara, the kind and doll-like housekeeper, transforming into someone resembling Lady Macbeth.

She needed a break and some air to gather her wits. Manoel was in the banqueting galley, nodding immediately when she asked for some minutes off. “Take your time,” he said. “The night will not be over for you before dawn.”

She was in no mind to go to the sticky staff canteen or the back entrance where the smokers gathered. Instead, she decided to have a look at the ball from the balcony above the dancefloor. According to Mr Parker, it had been installed in the original Sanditon assembly rooms to accommodate the Prince Regent during a Royal visit. Unfortunately, His Highness had never shown up, but the possibility of him doing so had become something like a running gag in Sanditon. Curious about what to expect, Charlotte lifted the drapes.

*

That little dance with Alicia had been delightful. Sidney smiled at the memory of it, of his niece’s beaming eyes, her small hands trustfully grabbing his, and her happy shrieks of laughter when he whirled her around. Did Tom even know how lucky he was to have such a family? 

He leaned against the balustrade of the balcony and took another sip of Chivas Regal. Why did he feel like an outlier most of the time? Why did he prefer to hide on a balcony when everyone else was having fun? Why was he unable to lose himself in a superficial ballroom acquaintance, just as Crowe and Babington did, following Clara Brereton and Esther Denham about like hungry dogs? What was he waiting for? Or was it a question of _who_ he was waiting for?

He gazed down to the dancefloor. Tom’s ball was a success, at least there was no doubt about that. It was close to midnight now, and the crowd was still strong, gathering around the Gaelic singer his brother had brought in from Glasgow. He saw Mr Hankins clap enthusiastically, and Lady Denham tap her cane to the strange and arcane song. His brothers were both joining the dance, Tom with wild and fantastic moves, Arthur jumping up and down and to the left and right as if he was a glowing rubber ball. 

For a moment, Sidney wished he could be more like them. He was all too aware of the fact that here in Sanditon, he was deemed the successful brother, the one that had broken with family tradition, the one that had left the small town and the hotel business behind and made a totally different career. The one that drove a car worth a comfortable family home in a pretty London suburb.

And yet, while he was watching his brothers go crazy about a Gaelic melody, he could not help but think how much easier his life would be if he were just a little more like them. If only he could find joy where Arthur did: in kneading a pastry dough, in pouring a shiny chocolate glazing, in placing a perfectly shaped strawberry on top of a delicious cake – unaffected by long working hours, laughable pay and a threat of diabetes.

If he could find satisfaction in the knowledge that he kept a family tradition alive, like Tom did, devoting every day of his life to the success of Sanditon and the fight against financial instabilities, just to ensure that one distant day, he could hand the hotel over to the next generation of Parker siblings. 

But he was different. As things stood, his greatest joy was the commission cheques he received from his clients. And as to satisfaction… the Aston Martin was meant to provide that, but it always only lasted as long as the motor was roaring.

He drained the Chivas Regal and prepared himself to return to the crowd when the drapes at the entrance to the balcony moved. It was Charlotte Heywood, blushing when she saw him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Not necessary,” he said with a smile that surprised himself. She had been working hard that evening, she definitely deserved a break. It actually spoke for her that she preferred the airy balcony to the smokers’ corner and the sticky staff canteen with its ugly plastic chairs. He watched her as she moved towards the balustrade and looked down on the crowd. “A penny for your thoughts, Miss Heywood.”

She sighed. “I was thinking about how very hard it is to make people out.”

He wondered whether he had had her wrong, whether she was not a nerd, but a flirt after all. She certainly looked more like a flirt in that figure-hugging service uniform, with some dark strands escaping from her ponytail and her cheeks reddened from the exertion of balancing trays around increasingly inebriated guests. That was if one liked large eyes and curvy shapes in a girl. He preferred the blonde, petite type. The ladylike type.

She was still staring at the crowd, her face showing an expression of wonder.

“Did anyone in particular confound you?” he asked.

“Oh.” She looked up as if caught out. “Just people in general. That’s what I find fascinating about working in a hotel. There are so many guests from so many places to observe… but it is hard to form a reliable judgement. People can be so difficult to interpret, don’t you find?”

“Some people can.” Sidney saw her pensive, even slightly puzzled look. Then he heard himself ask: “And what have you observed about me on our small acquaintance?”

Did he really say that? Now _he_ was the flirt. But she took it with a smile - and a rather charming smile at that. “I think that you must be the sensible brother of the three.”

It was not what he had expected, not from someone blushing like a schoolgirl whenever they met. “And what makes you say that?”

She did not blush again but looked more confident now. “Well, I may be mistaken, but it seems to me that your brother Arthur is of a very easy nature, seeking indulgence where he should exert moderation, due to his health issues. And I think that Mr Parker could be called over-enthusiastic. I am afraid that despite his good nature, he neglects his family and sometimes even the rule of law in his devotion to the hotel. Don’t you agree?”

No, Sidney did not agree.

For a moment, it was as if all music, all clapping on the dancefloor had ceased, and they were all alone together in the ballroom. She was gazing at him with those large brown eyes as if she was expecting his approval. He did not approve.

“You are very free with your opinions, Miss Heywood.” 

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to…” She looked flustered, and deservedly so. Was that a dimple on her chin? It only added to his anger.

“Upon what experience of the world do you form your judgements?” he asked.

“I – I…”

“Where have you been? Nowhere, apparently, except for school. What have you learnt there? Nothing, it would seem. And yet you take it upon yourself to criticise people you barely know.” He saw her gasp, but he had no pity for her. “What do you think, which is the better way to live? To pursue a career for materialistic reasons, or to expend your energy in trying to leave your mark, to keep and protect something that has been beloved through generations? _That_ is what my brother Tom is trying to do with the hotel, at the expense of a great deal of effort and anxiety, in a good cause in which all Parkers do our best to support him.” The girl looked as if she was going to faint. Yet he could not stop now. “And you see it fit to amuse yourself at his expense, even to accuse him of criminal conduct?”

“I… I’m sorry – I have offended you. I do apologise,” she said. He saw the tears welling up in her eyes, the tremble of her lips. It only made his anger grow stronger.

“Offended me?” He raised an eyebrow, staring down at her dismissively. “No, you haven’t offended me. I’m the one at fault. I should not have expected any more from a girl with so little understanding. Excuse me.”

He turned on his heel and left, but he did not return to the ballroom. The gym was locked now, but he knew where Diana kept the spare key. That punching ball definitely had had it coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is called "Pillow Fights".


	5. Pillow Fights

When Charlotte woke up on Sunday morning, the sun was shining bright and warm into her room, and the old herring gull with the damaged plumage was watching her from its vantage point on the gutter. For a moment, she was disoriented, then she remembered. Everything. The ball. The work. Serving beverages until three o’clock in the morning. Helping Manoel to clear up the ballroom. Tumbling into her bed, fully clothed, when the first stretches of the new day were already visible on the horizon.

And Sidney Parker.

She pulled the blanket over her head, but that did not make him go away.

_Upon what experience of the world do you form your judgements?_

_You see it fit to … accuse him of criminal conduct ..._

_A girl with so little understanding…_

Glaring down at her, full of anger and contempt. She cringed.

What had she been thinking, sharing her observations so freely with a man who drove a car worth a small yacht, mingled easily with society (one of those two friends was a lord, the F&B manager had told her), and was, after all, the brother of her boss?

And yet, she could not help but think that there had to be more to it, that his anger had been ignited not only by her thoughtless assumptions.

With a sigh, she pushed the blanket away and got up. 

After a long shower, a strong cup of coffee and some friendly messaging with her family, she donned a windbreaker and her walking shoes, determined to make the best of the day. It was her day off, after all, and she was ready to explore Sanditon’s coastline.

Down in the parking lot, she stumbled across Mary and the Parker children. “We have waved Uncle Sidney good-bye,” Alicia informed her.

“And his friends,” Jenny added.

“I see.” Charlotte tried to find something neutral to say but could not think of anything other than that she was immensely relieved. 

“I would have loved to have them stay for lunch,” Mary said with a sigh. “We don’t see that much of Sidney these days. – What are your plans, Charlotte?”

“I’m going for a walk of discovery.”

“Very well. Enjoy yourself, then.” 

Charlotte did enjoy herself. The beach was as marvellous as everyone had said, an extensive line of fine sand running parallel to the town, marked by low dunes on the land side and stretching into a far plain during ebb tide when the mudflats were laid bare.

Towards the east, where the coastline rose up to the cliff, the beach became rockier, creating tidal pools and secret coves. It was too cold for sea-bathing, but she did take off her shoes and socks, rolled up her trousers and put a toe into the water. The shallow surf hugging her feet was wonderfully cold and invigorating.

Paddling in the shallow waters, she continued her walk. She did not manage to get Sidney Parker’s words out of her head, but when she returned to the hotel in the afternoon, she was much more optimistic when it came to her future at the Sanditon Grand Hotel.

On Monday morning, when Charlotte came to the office, Mr Parker was already gone to Brighton to his meeting with the bank, the one that had required her and Mary to get Lady Denham’s last-minute signature. Esther was behind the reception desk, staring disinterestedly at her monitor and scarcely returning Charlotte’s “Good morning”. The room temperature dropped to freezing point when Clara came by and asked Esther to change the allocations for the VIP rooms. 

“Go change them yourself,” the head receptionist said without looking up.

“That’s your responsibility,” the housekeeper replied.

“Is it? When did you stop meddling where you don’t belong?”

“You and I should be friends, Esther.”

“No thanks, Miss Brereton.”

Charlotte closed the office door. Whatever was going on between these two and Edward Denham, she did not want to be part of it. She would have liked to be friends with Clara, who had seemed to be kind and helpful when they first met. What she had seen in the utilty room did not put her off, but the strange conversations at the ball, first with Edward, then with Clara, made her doubt. Perhaps she would have forgotten the whole affair if the two involved had not insisted on pulling it up again. Maybe it was better not to get too friendly with either of them.

The hotel’s bookkeeping was definitely more fascinating than the petty fights of the Denham cousins. Charlotte spent the morning at Mr Parker’s desk devising an Excel-sheet for all incoming invoices, entering them once she found a matching delivery note, and sorting them by date. She was searching through the hotel’s reservation system, trying to find out how to track outgoing invoices, when a sharp knock on the door made her look up.

“Come in!” she called, and in stormed a young man with a dark blond wave of hair on his head, carrying a massive folder and a roll of wallpaper under is harm

“Oh,” he said, visibly surprised. “I thought Mr Parker was here.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “He’s in a meeting in Brighton. – Perhaps I can help?”

“I doubt it. Unless you’re familiar with water pipes and plumbing.” There was a friendly twinkle in his light brown eyes.

“I’m not,” Charlotte said with a smile. “But I’ll let Mr Parker know that you were here, Mr…”

“Stringer. James.”

“I’m Charlotte Heywood. – Charlotte.” – and shaking James’ hand, she thought that after a number of disappointments, here was at last one kind soul.

“So you are Mr Parker’s trainee for this summer?” James asked.

“I am.”

“Do you like the hotel?”

“Very much. It’s a fascinating place. Seems to breathe history on every corner. Are you working here as well? Sorry, I haven’t met you before.”

“Not to worry. I was off for a couple of days last week. Had to see Stringer Senior to the hospital…” For a moment, there was a sorrowful look on his face. “Anyway. I’m working on the building site.”

“Oh, Regency Row? That’s such a beautiful project! Mary Parker showed it to me. It’s like travelling back in time.”

James smiled. It was a very nice smile, showing pride in his work, but also modesty about her praise. “That’s exactly what it was meant to be like. I’m glad you like it. Do you want to see the designs for the interiors?”

“Absolutely!”

The interiors were just as stunning as the exterior. “We are trying to recreate a Regency atmosphere wherever possible,” James explained, pointing out the fireplace in each apartment and the high Venetian windows with window sills wide enough to sit on during a rainy day and stare outside with a good book, a cup of tea and some biscuits. “This is the wallpaper for the corridors. It’s a custom-made design, based on actual posters from the Regency period.” The wallpaper he rolled out was a strange mix of advertisements in heavy black print, promoting amongst other news a rendition of Cinderella, the Sanditon Regatta of 1819 and Mr Thomas Parker’s brand-new bathing machines.

“How imaginative,” Charlotte said. “I have never seen anything like that. - _A Giant Sea Serpent_?” she read out one of the announcements. James grinned.

“An old Sanditon tale. Have you not heard about it?”

“No?”

“It’s what the Sanditon parents used to tell their children to make sure they kept away from the beach and the surf: That in the very ancient days, a giant sea serpent ravaged the shore, and could only be pacified with the sacrifice of an innocent child.”

“Urgh,” Charlotte said. “That’s gruesome!”

“The museum has a whole section on it. When Sanditon became a seaside resort and people flocked to the beach, they found the story counterproductive and stopped telling it. But some people still believe that there is an ancient creature living in the currents off the beach and that it will return one day and demand another sacrifice. - Have a look at the bathrooms,” James added when he saw Charlotte's horrified face. “They are inspired by the original bathing machines that were installed here two-hundred years ago.” Charlotte was immediately distracted, the cold shiver that had run down her spine forgotten.

“This is fantastic! Such imagination! Did you do all that?”

“Some of it. My father is an architect as well, and he has worked for the Parkers many times. I took over from him after… he’s in hospital for cancer treatment right now.”

“I’m so sorry, James,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“It’s alright. He’s… he can be a bit bossy at times and keeps demanding updates on the building works. - Doesn’t trust me at all,” he added with a crooked grin. “Anyway. Where were we?”

“Stringer Junior!” Mr Parker walked in, all cheerfulness and merriment. “We missed you at the ball on Saturday. It was a raging success, wasn’t it, Charlotte? I see you two have met?”

“I was with my father.” James rose from his seat.

“Ah, of course. Your dear father. How is he faring?”

“We don’t know yet how the therapy will work.”

“It will turn out well. Just don’t lose faith. – Now, what can I do for you?”

“There is… the matter we talked about last week…” James blushed as he tried and failed to exchange a meaningful look with his employer.

“I’m not sure I know which matter you are referring to, James,” Mr Parker said, not meeting his eye but searching through his phone.

“It was about water pipes and plumbing, wasn’t it, James?” Charlotte said.

Mr Parker put down his phone. “Ah! _That_ matter! We better discuss that on-site, shall we? – Take a break for luncheon, Charlotte, and I’ll see you afterwards.” He took James by the elbow and led him out of his office, and Charlotte closed her new Excel-sheet and walked down to the staff canteen.

On her return, Edward Denham was lounging about Reception, leaning over the desk and rolling a golf ball back and forth. “He’s a lord, you know,” Charlotte heard him say to Esther.

“And if he was a prince I couldn’t care less,” the head receptionist answered, staring at her monitor. Edward turned to Charlotte and threw her the golf ball.

“Do you enjoy a ball game, Miss Heywood?”

She caught the ball just before it crashed into one of the glass cabinets displaying pictures of old Sanditon. “I play cricket.” 

“Do you? Care for a golf lesson? I’ll give you a trial for free.”

“Thank you. I’m rather busy right now.” Without looking at him, she walked into Mr Parker’s office, closed the door behind her and leaned against it. These people were so confounding.

Mr Parker was apparently stuck on the building site, discussing _that_ matter – whatever it was, water pipes and plumbing or something completely different –, so she immersed herself into the beautiful world of accounting once more. When Mr Parker finally returned, she had added another batch of invoices to her sorting system. 

“Ah, Charlotte, my dear. You seem to be very busy. Finding the light at the end of the tunnel?”

“It seems to be a very long tunnel, but I think I do. I’ve made an Excel-sheet of all incoming invoices, and a list of priorities for the ones due for payment.”

“Oh?” He had started tapping on his phone, but now shoved it into the pocket of his jacket and looked her over the shoulder. “That looks very organised, my dear. Thank you.”

“There are some invoices though… I’ve put them here in the stack labelled _questionable_. Maybe we can go through them right now? Then we’ll have everything sorted by tonight.”

“Splendid,” Mr Parker said, though this time it did sound like a weak echo of his usual enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he took a seat next to her. 

“First of all, there is this one,” she said. “It’s an outgoing invoice to a Mr Mathews in Manchester for a wedding party here at the hotel, dated last September. I can’t find any indication that it has been paid yet, or that a reminder has been sent, and it’s quite a substantial amount.”

“Is it?” Mr Parker held the invoice at arm’s length. “Oh, yes. I remember. The Pratt-Mathews’ wedding. Dreadful story. And very delicate matter, for several reasons. Could never bring myself to pester them about the payment.”

“But what happened?” Charlotte asked, expecting something really terrible like giant rats emerging from Arthur’s lovingly made wedding cake, or the whole wedding party falling ill after tasting Strawberry Secrets. Mr Parker sighed deeply.

“They went on a honeymoon to the Maledives. One day, after a snorkelling excursion, when the new Mrs Pratt still had her goggles on, she accidentally mistook her husband’s phone for her own. Which led to the unfortunate discovery that he had been having an affair with her estranged sister. Virtually even during the honeymoon.”

“Oh dear,” Charlotte said.

“Yes. Poor girl. She fled the Maledives and filed for divorce the moment she touched British soil. Had to go into therapy afterwards. – Dreadful story. Broke up the whole family.”

“But still, they could pay for the wedding party, couldn’t they? Mr Pratt’s behaviour is not your fault, and at the moment it’s you who’s paying for the party. Why don’t you have a deposit policy?” Mr Parker shrugged his shoulders. 

“The Mathews are old regulars at Sanditon. Nearly… yes, very nearly family. Years ago, the elder girl… well. It seems a bit late to ask them for payment now, my dear.”

“Absolutely not! I’ll call Mr Mathews. I’ll tell them I’m new here, and as I checked the old files, I stumbled across this. He can’t do more than put the phone down on me, and even then we can take further action.”

“Would you really do that?” Mr Parker was staring at her with large eyes.

“Of course. It’s your money, Mr Parker. – Which brings me to another one. Look at this one. Apparently, we are being charged five hundred pounds every month by a Lydia Hillier for social media services.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Dear little Liddy. Have known her since she was a toddler, following the Sanditon Easter egg hunt and getting stuck in the broom.”

“But what exactly are you paying her for now? Surely it’s not a compensation for a trauma in the shrubbery?” Mr Parker took the invoice from Charlotte’s hands and studied it at arm’s length.

“Well, as it says here: social media services.”

“And what would that be?”

“She’s taking care of our social media accounts. You have to go with the time, if you want to be successful in this ever-changing world, Charlotte.” For once, Charlotte hoped Mr Parker would not sound like an advertising banner nearly every time he opened his mouth. This was serious.

“Well, I _have_ checked the hotel’s social media accounts. All I’ve found was a message saying the hotel is on Twitter now, a discount code on Instagram for Heely’s shoe shop, and a post on Facebook from the beginning of April about the Easter Bonnet Parade of Bexhill’s Motoring Club.”

“That’s quite an event every year over in Bexhill. I think Lydia has an uncle there who’s a member of the club. Or was it a cousin?”

“But you’re not paying someone five hundred pounds every month so they can promote their uncle’s hobbies.” Mr Parker gave her a forced smile. 

“No, of course not. But that’s how it goes in small towns like Sanditon. You know your neighbours, you know the people you’re working with, you help them. Lydia’s father has been our gardener for years.”

“I see,” Charlotte said though she did not. In Willingden, her mother did the gardening – her father had no time for such frivolities, and neither of them would have had the idea of paying anyone for services they had not received.

“Lydia is studying marketing, and this is her way of getting some practice,” Mr Parker said. “I’m glad to be able to support her for her father’s sake.”

“I see,” Charlotte said again. “Would you mind if I talked to her about one or two ideas I have for these social media accounts?”

“Not at all, my dear, not at all.” Mr Parker’s phone was buzzing with an alarm. “Time to pick up the girls from school. I’m off. – Don’t work too long today, I can’t afford to pay you overtime,” he added with a grin that was only half in jest.

*

By Wednesday Sidney believed he had found a solution for what he kept calling “the Lambe-situation”. It was not perfect, it was not easy, but it was definitely better than having a sulking seventeen-year-old imprisoned in his guest room.

When Sidney had accepted his former mentor’s request to have an eye on his teenage daughter while he was sailing around the world for six months with his new wife, it had appeared to be a simple enough task. Gigi was in an elite boarding school in Kent, Sidney was supposed to visit her once or twice a month, and when the school year ended, he would drive her to Heathrow Airport and put her on a plane to Antigua where she was to join her father and his new wife.

What he had not anticipated was that Gigi would manage to get herself expelled from that boarding school within days of her father’s departure. He had also not expected her to answer all his attempts at a sensible conversation with wild threats bordering on blackmail. He was now in charge of a girl that hated him nearly as much as she hated her father and her stepmother, and he had no idea how to deal with troubled teenage girls. And as he could not deal with her on his own, he had decided to find someone who could. Or so he hoped.

“Go away!” Gigi cried when he knocked on her locked door.

“I won’t. Open the door, Gigi.”

“I said, go away!” With a sigh, he took out the spare key – it was his flat, after all – and unlocked the door. 

Gigi was lying on the bed, curled up like an embryo, turning her back on him. Part of him felt sorry for her and the mess her existence had become during the last month, and for the role he was playing in it. But a larger part of him was angry at her for being one more stubborn girl that made his life a misery – just like that impudent Charlotte Heywood with her large eyes, her freckled nose and, worst of all, that impossible dimple. Not to mention Eliza, whose invisible presence kept hovering around him, even after eight years.

“We’ll be going to Sanditon on Friday,” he said. No reaction. “You are going to stay at my brother’s hotel until you can meet your father in Antigua. I have arranged for our former nanny to look after you.”

“I’m not a toddler that needs a nanny!”

“Then stop behaving like one, Gigi.”

“I hate you, Sidney Parker!” He caught the cushion she was hurling at him. 

“Yeah. You’re welcome to join the list. I’m going to stay with you for a couple of days, to make sure that you settle in.” The next cushion came flying.

“You cannot force me to go to that place.”

“I can. I don’t think your father foresaw this situation, but he did sign a paper, giving me the authority on your residence.”

“I’ll run away!”

“Then I’ll catch you. – Listen, Georgiana,” he said, using her full name to underline the gravity of the situation. “I know this isn’t easy for you. I have not completely forgotten what it is like to be seventeen and to be in love for the first time.”

“You know nothing,” Gigi glared.

I do, Sidney thought. I know so much more than I ever wanted to. And I wish I could spare you that disappointment that is inevitable to happen, that pain you can only overcome if you cauterise your heart.

But that was not what he said. What he said was: “We are leaving Friday after lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Charlotte's “Best Intentions” will lead to the worst result.


	6. Best Intentions

When Sidney phoned Babington and told him that he was returning to Sanditon for the weekend – and probably going to stay a little longer -, his friend paused for a second. Then he said: “I might as well join you.”

“You would?” Sidney was puzzled. After all, it had taken him two weeks to convince Babington to come to Sanditon for the Spring Ball.

“I have been thinking about working on my handicap,” his friend said.

“I had no idea you are playing golf.”

“Neither had I.” Babington laughed. “But I found my first visit to Sanditon quite inspiring. Can you ask your brother for a room? And arrange a lesson with the golf instructor?”

“Of course. But I have to warn you. We’ll be in the company of Gussie Griffiths and the world’s most sulky teenager.”

“Who’s Gussie Griffiths?”

“Our former nanny. Arthur’s nanny, mainly. Tom, Diana and I were out of nanny-age when our mother died. – I have arranged for her to look after Gigi,” Sidney quickly continued, swiftly (as he believed) sailing around the topic of his mother.

“And you think that’s a good idea?” 

“Do you have a better one?” 

Babington laughed. “No. I don’t know anything about teenage girls. I’ve always considered them to be a foreign species from a different planet.”

“Yes,” Sidney said. “That’s a perfect description of Gigi. Now add a first love gone terribly wrong, and expulsion from school and a father set off for a sailing trip around the world after marrying stepmother number three. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I won’t complain, I promise.” Babington, good-natured as he was, laughed again before he rang off.

Now where Babington went, Crowe could not stay behind. In the end, a somewhat mixed party set off on Friday afternoon for another weekend in Sanditon: Babington and Crowe in Sidney’s Aston Martin, and Sidney, a protesting Gigi and a frightening amount of luggage in Babington’s more family-friendly BMW. They took a detour via Tunbridge Wells to pick up the nanny, a good-looking woman in her early fifties who could not stop pinching Sidney’s cheeks and telling him what a fine and handsome man he had become – as if there had ever been a doubt about it. Gigi rolled her eyes, Babington hid his glee under the brim of his newly acquired golf cap, and Crowe said: “First love”, pulled out his phone and took a picture. “Do you mind if I post it?”

“I do!” Sidney said, trying to squeeze Mrs Griffiths’ luggage into the trunk of the BMW. He was already wondering whether this was such a good idea after all. Gigi was eyeing her new companion like a captured tiger considering which limb of his warden to consume first.

“You’re such a bore, Parker,” Crowe said. “ – Oh, but it seems as if at least your brother is learning something about the magic of social media.”

“Is he?” 

“Look at that.” Crowe showed him his phone. It was a mouth-watering picture of a Strawberry Secret, taken from a clever angle and hashtagged _#sanditongrandhotel, #strawberrysecret, #yummie, #arthurparkeristhebest_. “Four-hundred likes,” Crowe said. “That’s not too bad, considering your non-existent number of followers. I’ll like it and share it, and then let’s see what happens.”

“Right,” Sidney said. He did not intend to add likes and followers to his worries.

*

Charlotte’s first week at the Sanditon Grand Hotel had worked out very well, despite the bumpy start at the ball. She took her distance from the Denham cousins and got on well with everyone else. She made friends with Mary Parker, and one afternoon even stepped in to pick up the girls from school. She helped out at breakfast when one of the waiters called in sick, she drove the hotel van to shuttle guests to the station and back when everyone else on that duty was detained otherwise, and she walked down to the beach whenever time permitted it. She also walked over to Regency Row and met James for a personal tour of the apartments. 

Bookkeeping-wise she scored a great success when she got hold of Mr Mathews of Manchester on the phone and with well-chosen words reminded him of the bill for his daughter’s wedding. “I have been wondering about that,” Mr Mathews admitted. “Actually, at first, I thought Tom did not want to further hurt Hetty’s feelings and therefore held it back. I found that very considerate of him at the time, especially thinking of how… well. Then I believed my wayward elder daughter and that scoundrel of a son-in-law had paid it all.”

“They haven’t, I’m afraid,” Charlotte said. “But Mr Parker has to pay his staff and his suppliers.”

“I understand. Just email me a copy, and I’ll arrange everything.” One hour later, he sent her a proof of payment. 

She was less successful, though, when she contacted Lydia Hillier and went through her ideas for social media postings with her. 

“Strawberry Secrets?” Lydia said. “I don’t know. I would have to come up to Sanditon and take pictures.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said.

“I’m at Uni in Brighton right now.”

“I can take the pictures,” Charlotte suggested. “I’ll send them to you, you edit and post them.”

“How would you hashtag them?”

I have no idea, Charlotte thought. I don’t even have an Instagram account. And I am not the one being paid five hundred pounds a month for social media services. “Do you know what?” she said. “Just give me the login details, and I’ll post them myself.”

She spent some time working out how to make a perfect Strawberry Secret even more shiny and glossy through clever editing, and then spent some more time to find out everything there was to know about Instagram.

When she published her first posting on Thursday afternoon, she was rather pleased with herself and the way things were going – so pleased that she felt confident enough to tell Phillida Beaufort to stop checking her phone while at work. So pleased that for the first time since the ball she could walk past the picture of Sidney Parker in the staircase without averting her eyes. _A girl with so little understanding…_ Oh, what a presumptuous idiot the man was.

Mr Parker was very excited on Friday morning, running about the office and moving papers from the left side of his desk to the right and back. “My dear, have you been talking to Phillida about using her phone at work?”

“I have. I think it’s highly unprofessional, and I also read an online review complaining that she was inattentive and busier checking her phone than looking after the guests. I sent a copy to you.”

“Ah. I see.” He sighed. “Next time such a thing occurs, speak to me about it first.– She is very sensitive and has called in sick for today, and so has her sister.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, though she wasn’t really. Maybe it was time for the Beaufort girls to grow up? 

“We are a family business, and we like to treat our employees as part of the family.” Or maybe it was time for her to stop meddling in matters she did not understand? “Unfortunately, now I’m down a receptionist for the late shift,” Mr Parker sighed.

“Maybe I can… help out,” she said. Mr Parker’s face lighted up. 

“Would you? You’re a treasure, Charlotte. I’ll ask Esther to explain everything to you, and I’m sure you’ll manage.” She nodded. It was Friday, and she had promised James to meet him at the Crown for a drink tonight, but work was work, and the Beaufort sisters’ absence, however ridiculous it was, was primarily her fault. 

Mr Parker’s phone started ringing, and he talked to Lady Denham for a few minutes. Charlotte did not pay full attention to what was being said, for Lady Denham’s calls usually consisted of her ladyship saying quite a lot and Mr Parker very little, merely adding a “Yes”, “Certainly”, “You are very good, Lady Denham”.

“Splendid,” he said after ringing off. “Lady Denham has invited you to her luncheon party on Sunday.”

“Oh?”

“She’s giving a Sunday luncheon once every month. – Old family tradition,” he added with a wink. “A sign of appreciation for whoever happens to grace Sanditon with their presence at the time. What a lucky coincidence that my brother will be here as well!”

“Your brother?” Charlotte said, hoping she had misheard.

“Yes, of course. Sidney is coming down tonight for the weekend. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” Charlotte said. The same brother that was always too busy for visiting his family?

“And he’s bringing quite a party with him… his two London friends again and his foster daughter.”

“Foster daughter?” She must have misheard again. Maybe she should have her hearing tested.

“Oh yes. His mentor’s daughter… a young girl he’s looking after while her father is on his… hm, I think third or fourth honeymoon.” Mr Parker laughed. Charlotte tried to smile, but inwardly she shook her head. Which responsible father would trust his young daughter to the care of that superficial, self-centred idiot? Mr Parker had given her the answer already: a father on his fourth honeymoon. Poor girl.

“That reminds me,” Mr Parker said, running to the door. “Esther! Sidney’s friend, the lordship, wants to take a golf lesson on Saturday. Can you arrange something with your brother?”

Esther rolled her eyes. “I believe I should rather arrange for a fishing permit.”

“No, it’s golf, my dear. Sidney explicitly said so. – Why would he want to go fishing?”

“Because he’s after the fish,” Esther said. Charlotte could not help but think that both she and Mr Parker missed part of Esther’s meaning, but she did not ask. More important than his lordship’s preferred leisure activities was the quick training Esther gave her for the late shift she was to cover. 

It was going to be a rather busy Friday night, with many guests checking in for a wedding party on Saturday. Sidney Parker and his company arrived only a few minutes after Mr Parker had returned from picking up the girls from school, leading to a loud and happy welcome with lots of hugs and kisses. Mary Parker came to meet them with Henry and little Jamie, adding to the general excitement. 

“No fuss with registration here,” Mr Parker cried, handing out the keys to his brother’s party. “We are amongst friends.”

Charlotte eyed them; they were Sidney’s friends from the ball: Babington, the lord with the amiable smile, and the scrawny curly-head, a man called Crowe. Much more fascinating was, of course, the foster daughter, a slender black girl perhaps four or five years Charlotte’s junior that did not join the general hello. In fact, she stood a few steps apart like an outlier and was looking around herself with an expression as if she was planning which glass cabinet to smash first.

“Ladies first,” Mr Parker exclaimed. “So, Miss Lambe and Mrs Griffiths – dear Gussie – it’s the Denham Suite for you. Fourth floor, the most marvellous view of the coastline included. Your luggage will be taken care of.”

“I will not share with that woman,” the girl said.

“Oh, but my dear, you have two bedrooms to choose from, plus the lounge, and a walk-in wardrobe. Now, his lordship… that’s room 314 – and Mr Crowe, 312. Third floor. – Sidney, I thought I’d put you into last week’s room in the attic again? We’re fully booked tomorrow, due to the wedding. - Do you have the key ready, Charlotte?”

“Not a problem, Tom,” Sidney said, not looking at Charlotte when she handed him the key. He hates it, she thought. Of course, he hates it. We will be neighbours again.

“Splendid. Splendid! Now, I suggest you all settle in, and then we’ll meet for tea in the Conservatory. Arthur has been busy baking, I hear.” Mr Parker clapped his hands, and the party scuttled off to the elevator. It took some time until that ancient device had accommodated and transported first the luggage and then the guests, and in the end, Sidney Parker remained alone in front of the sliding doors, waiting for the next turn. 

Charlotte looked around. Tom Parker and his family had retreated to the Conservatory, and apart from his brother staring at the shiny “up” button, the lobby was empty. It was now or never.

She left the reception desk and walked over to the elevator. “Mr Parker, may I have a word?” 

He turned to her, his expression still hostile. Charlotte took a deep breath. 

“Our conversation at the ball… I think I expressed myself badly. I never meant to disparage your brothers, or to offend you. After my first week here, I have come to feel the greatest admiration for your family’s commitment to the hotel.” Now that she had started, the words were just pouring out of her, uncontrollable. “You were right to rebuke me, and I am really, really sorry. I just hope you won’t think too badly of me.”

Sidney looked down on her, in that annoying way of his that made her feel even shorter than she was. “Think badly of you?” One of his eyebrows went up. “I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood. - I am not interested in your approval or disapproval,” he added. “Quite simply, I don’t care. Sorry if that disappoints you, but there it is. Have I made myself clear?”

Absolutely.

Charlotte felt the tears welling up again. But her anger prevailed. She had tried to reach out to him, to make amends. And this was his reaction? What an ass. She lifted her chin and looked him square in the eye.

“Only if you really don’t care, Mr Parker, I wonder why you take the trouble to be quite so offensive and hurtful. – Enjoy your stay.” And with that, she turned and walked back to the reception desk, fighting down those stupid tears that were threatening to overcome her. If only he did not see how much she trembled. When she finally managed to look up, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback. I'm getting a bit busier now, but I'll try to keep updating the story from day to day.
> 
> The next chapter is about "Shining Knights".


	7. Shining Knights

Sidney hit the punching ball hard. It was Sunday morning, after breakfast and before setting off to Lady Denham’s. He had the gym all to himself, and he was growing more and more frustrated. 

Gigi did not settle in well. She loathed Gussie Griffiths, to whom she referred to only as her “jailer”. She got on reasonably well with Mary (but then, everyone did), but his secret hope that two little girls plus baby James and the cutie that was Henry would distract her from her troubled love life had not been fulfilled. Instead, she kept trying to blackmail him. 

As to his siblings: Diana wanted to prescribe him some homoeopathic nonsense “to calm your temper, brother”, Arthur ignored all concerns about diabetes and had missed an appointment to have a blood sample taken, and Tom sang the praise of Charlotte Heywood, a song Sidney did not want to hear.

He had treated her like an ass. He knew that. He had known that the moment he said those words. _I don’t care. I am not interested in your approval or disapproval. I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood._ She had acted like an adult, apologised for her errors, and offered peace – and he had reacted as if he was a petulant child… but that was an insult to Jenny, Alicia, and Henry. He had responded with precisely the same behaviour he had reproached Charlotte Heywood for: baseless criticism, thoughtless disparagement, little understanding. The punching ball bounced around wildly after his next strike, too fast to be hit again. 

Worst of all, Charlotte Heywood obviously thought of him as an ass as well. She had simply stopped _seeing_ him. She had asked Babington about his golfing lesson and discussed Instagram posts with Crowe while perfectly pretending that he was not there, standing next to his friends. She had helped out in the Conservatory on Saturday afternoon – Tom was a bit short of staff because of the wedding in the ballroom – and managed to serve him tea without looking at him or speaking to him once. Yet his own words seemed to be written all across her face: _I am not interested in your approval or disapproval, Mr Parker._

The punching ball was still wobbling around. Oh, how he needed something more bracing than hitting that stupid ball… perhaps a bath in the sea would cool down his temper.

“Mr Parker?” Kamila, Clara’s Polish assistant housekeeper, was standing next to the rowing machine, a safe distance away from him. “Mrs Griffiths is asking for you to come up to the Denham Suite. It’s that girl…”

Gigi had locked herself into the master bedroom. “I’m not going,” she shouted through the door.

“Gigi,” Sidney said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “The lady of the town has been kind enough to invite you for lunch. It’s a Denham tradition.”

“I don’t care about your stupid traditions!”

“There’s nothing stupid about meeting new people and making conversation.”

“I will be gawped at and served up for general amusement! Look at her, the millionaire’s wayward daughter! Black as treacle and expelled from school!”

“Stop talking nonsense. No one knows about what happened in school unless you tell them. And this is 2017, not 1817. Even Lady Denham has seen a black teenager before. – And now open the door. My brother owns the hotel, it will take me less than five minutes to get into your room.”

At last, Gigi turned the safety lock. When she stood in front of him, he saw that she had been crying heavily, her eyes bloodshot and swollen. For a moment, he was overcome with pity. “Look, Gigi,” he said, touching her shoulder. “I promised your father I would look after you, and I will. One day, you’ll understand. This is only for your good.”

“So you say,” she said full of defiance and vanished into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her again.

*

Charlotte had never been invited to a luncheon party before – at least not by someone as eminent as Lady Denham, and she did feel rather excited about the event. Dressed in her Sunday’s best, her hair braided and pinned up, her large eyes even larger after a smart appliance of make-up, she met the Parker family and their friends in the hotel lobby to drive over to Sanditon House. 

There was a bit of a mix up about who was going with whom. Arthur wanted to join Sidney in the Aston Martin, Charlotte looked in the other direction when someone – Mary Parker – suggested that she could go with Crowe, Babington and her brother-in-law in the BMW while the rest of them took the hotel bus, Gussie Griffiths insisted in riding in the front row, and Diana said she would get sick in the van.

Gigi Lambe did not want to go with anyone or anywhere at all. She was staring at the glass cabinets again as if considering which one to smash first. But that was not going to restrict Charlotte’s pleasure. Once it was worked out that Mr Sidney Parker would, of course, drive his own car and accept only one person in the passenger seat – his foster daughter – she started to enjoy the occasion.

Walking into Lady Denham’s drawing-room was like taking a passage back in time. To a delicate taste though the dark paintings covering the walls, depicting scenes of sea gods and their prey (mostly dead), would have more historical than artistic value. The room, Mary Parker told Charlotte, had been laid out like that more than two-hundred years ago, and it had been decreed by the then Lady Denham that it had to remain unchanged – including the mosaic of a red snake covering the black floor.

“It’s meant to serve as a reminder of how easily we fall into the traps of sinfulness,” Mary said.

“That’s a very out-dated view, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked. At home in Willingden, they had no mosaic floor in the living room, but an IKEA rug. And one was more likely to walk into her younger siblings’ scattered toys than into the traps of sinfulness.

“I’m so glad to see you, Charlotte,” someone behind her said. It was Clara, looking rather lovely with freshly curled hair and a whiff of red lipstick to underline her pale complexion. Mary Parker moved on to other guests as the housekeeper took Charlotte’s arm. “Stay close. That will attract him.”

“Attract whom?” Charlotte asked, baffled. 

“Edward Denham, of course.” The golf instructor was on the other side of the room, talking to Babington and Crowe. These Denham cousins really were confounding.

“Why would you want to attract him?”

“Because she’s out on a fishing mission,” Esther said next to Charlotte. With the Beaufort girls miraculously recovered from their Friday illness, she had been able to join the lunch party instead of having to cover the reception desk. 

“At least I’m not fishing with no bait,” Clara said, her eyes narrowing, and then moving over to Mary and Diana Parker. 

“Better stay away from her, Charlotte,” Esther said, offering no further explanation. “Oh, look. Just another fisherman.” Babington had come over to greet her. 

“You’re looking very well today, Esther.” And she did indeed, dressed in green again, the best colour to complement her auburn hair. Yet she chose to ignore him, turning to Charlotte: “The wearisome thing about these events is the people you have to talk to, don’t you agree?”

Babington took it with noble grace and an amiable smile. “I shan’t be put off, you know.”

“And I shall not be put on. – Have you seen the view of the park, Charlotte? Trees. Sky. Deer, if you’re lucky.”

Fortunately, Lady Denham now called everyone to go through to the dining room, and for Babington to escort her, and that put a preliminary end to more mysterious conversations.

The dining room turned out to be a replica of the drawing-room, with the paintings inspired by food rather than by dead animals. If there was another snake mosaic on the floor – or an apple, for that matter – it was invisible, covered by a long table that was laid out for a meal consisting of several courses. “Take your seats,” Lady Denham said.

Charlotte eyed the starched napkins folded into fans, the confusing number of glasses at each place, and the mirror-like underplates with the Denham arms engraved in them. Never before had she sat down at such a magnificent table.

There was one drawback, of course. Just as Crowe (who according to his place card really seemed to go by no other name) took a seat on her left side, Sidney Parker moved in on her right. Insufferable man! She turned her head to the left, ready to engage Crowe in more social media talks when Sidney Parker said matter-of-factly: “So, Miss Heywood. Any observations on the assembled company?”

“You have no interest in my opinion, so I won’t trouble you with it, Mr Parker,” she told his place card.

“But I’m sure you have one.” He even tried a smile. Not very convincing. “Come on, share it with me.”

“Not for the world.” What was wrong with that man? _Quite simply, I don’t care._ Was he suffering from memory loss? “I’ve endured two tongue lashings from you, and I won’t court a third. Save your unpleasantness for someone else. Or better still: Why not try to be civil?”

“Well said. Perhaps I shall.”

“But please, not with me,” she said and turned to Crowe. “Do you have any suggestions on how to improve the number of followers on our Instagram page?”

*

On the other side of the table, Sidney’s brother was trying to convince his hostess and business partner of his latest scheme for attracting a new target group of guests. Sidney listened in, out of real interest and also because it was more agreeable than listening to Charlotte Heywood chatting merrily about the pitfalls of social media with his friend Crowe.

“The international cultural traveller,” Tom said. “Come to Britain to enjoy our rich heritage and to dive deep into our history. Is there a better place to start such a tour of discovery than 1066 country?”

“But this isn’t 1066 country,” Diana observed.

“No, my dear, but it’s next door.” Tom was always the optimist. “I have a scheme to reap some of their profits. Sanditon – a vantage point of English history.”

“We get on well as we are,” Lady Denham said, looking more than ever like someone who had been around since 1066. “We have the sea and the beach and the golf course. We want the _right_ kind of guests, Mr Parker. Spare me those nosy foreign tourists invading my garden because they cannot interpret the _Keep Out_ signs.”

“I rather agree, aunt,” Edward Denham said. He seemed to be eager to join the conversation. Seated next to Gigi, he looked decidedly unhappy. Which was no surprise, Sidney thought, given the fact that there was probably no lady in the room more immune to his dubious charm than Georgiana Lambe. Speaking of charm: Charlotte Heywood was still happily discussing social media with Crowe, apparently having entirely forgotten her other neighbour.

“You would agree with me on anything, Edward, in the hope of remaining in my good graces,” Lady Denham said. “If only your actions matched your words! - Now!” She looked around at her guests, probably in search of a new topic of conversation. And she found one.

“Miss Lambe! Georgiana, isn't it? – Born with a golden spoon in your mouth, like Edward. _He_ keeps dawdling his life away as a golf instructor until I jump into the grave and he inherits all this. What are your plans?”

“I want to become a human rights lawyer,” Gigi said. Sidney listened up. This was news to him. 

“Oh,” Lady Denham said. “You’re one of those save-the-world-types, aren’t you, Miss Lambe?”

“No, I’m not. I was only joking.”

“Ah.” It was just a short syllable, but Lady Denham managed to put a lot of displeasure into it. She certainly was not used to being the centre of jokes by a teenage girl – and at her own luncheon table! “So do you intend to do nothing? Spend your life in leisure and luxury?”

“I don’t,” Gigi said. “If I did, I might lose my head, come the revolution.”

“So you’re a champagne communist? Preach bread for the poor and have cake for yourself?” Lady Denham was growing visibly irritated.

“No. I just haven’t decided yet. The only thing I know is that whatever career I choose, I’ll have to be fifty per cent better than the rest.”

“How’s that? I’m sure your father will get you into the best universities…” First of all, we have to make sure she gets back into school, Sidney thought. But he was curious about where the conversation would be leading. Last time he checked, Gigi had wanted to open an art gallery to support young talents from minority backgrounds.

“I’ll have to be ten per cent better than the rest because I’m a rich girl and everyone will believe I got to where I am with the help of my father’s money,” Gigi said. “And I’ll have to be ten per cent better than the rest because I’m not a man.” 

“Oh, all you girls moaning about equality, and secretly craving a knight in shining armour!” Lady Denham sighed. Sidney sighed as well, but for other reasons. The last thing Georgiana Lambe was craving was a knight in shining armour. Gigi ignored them both.

“And I’ll have to be twenty per cent better than the rest because I’m black.” There was no comment from Lady Denham on that. In fact, all other conversations around the table had ceased. Even Charlotte Heywood had stopped discussing Instagram with Crowe: everyone was staring at Gigi now. 

“I’m dying out of curiosity, Miss Lambe,” Arthur said. “What is the final ten per cent for?”

“Well,” Gigi said, looking once around the table until settling her gaze on Lady Denham with a surprisingly sweet smile. “That’s of course for the fact that I am not only black, and a girl, but –“

“Thank you very much, Georgiana,” Sidney interceded, having realised too late what Gigi was about to say. He would always describe himself as being tolerant, but he was not going to test that tolerance at Lady Denham’s luncheon table. “We shall find a way to finish school first before discussing the challenges of the working world, shan’t we?”

“You’re not in school now?” Lady Denham asked.

“No,” Gigi said, glaring at Sidney. “I got expelled.”

“And how came that about? Did you try out the revolution with them?”

“No, I…” Gigi caught Sidney’s warning gaze, and for once, she relented. “I didn’t like school. We ain’t suited.”

“We ain’t suited!” Arthur cried out, smacking his massive thighs. “Excellent, Miss Lambe! I wish I’d said that to my teachers only once! We ain’t suited!” Lady Denham shot him a displeased if not murderous look. And she certainly was not finished with the young ladies around the table. 

*

Charlotte had followed the exchange with some curiosity. What was it Sidney Parker had stopped Gigi Lambe from saying? Just another conundrum. Then she felt her hostess’s gaze settle on her.

“And what do you think about the matter, Miss Heywood?” Lady Denham asked. “You are trying to make a career in the hotel industry – have you experienced the need to be better than your male colleagues because you’re a woman? And unlike Miss Lambe not born with a golden spoon in your mouth?”

Charlotte chose her words carefully. “I don’t believe in heritage, but in ability, Lady Denham. And I would very much like to believe that we are all being judged based on our abilities. But I have also seen prejudices prevail and that, if my opinion is not agreeable, I’m suddenly too young and too inexperienced to have one.”

“As of course, you are,” Lady Denham said. 

“But how am I to learn and make my way if I don’t speak out? If I never err, never misjudge? If I’m expected to be perfect the moment I venture out into the world? We are all entitled to missteps, whether we’re born with a golden spoon or not.” Charlotte slightly turned her head to the right. “Don’t you agree, Mr Parker?”

Sidney swallowed hard on his mutton, shrugged his shoulders and reached for his water glass. 

“No reply from Mr Parker,” Lady Denham observed. “Might be as well. For you will have to make your way in the world, Miss Heywood. You will have to overcome the obstacle of being young and a woman, and from a place no-one has ever heard of, for there will be no shining knight for you, sweeping you off your feet, dancing with you into the sunset. In the real world, that knight will promise you eternal love and happiness, and then dump you for someone younger, or more attractive, or cheat on you with your best friend or your sister.”

“What a bleak lookout that is, Lady Denham!” Mary Parker cried.

“Do you think? It’s nothing but the truth.”

“Still, you don’t have to worry about me, Lady Denham,” Charlotte said as if there was any probability that the old dragon would worry about her. “I shall be focussed on my career for the next few years.”

“Indeed,” the old lady said, raising her glass. “And that’s what they all say until someone comes along and promises them a fairy tale. – To your shining knights!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter’s title is “The Seagull and the Serpent”, and it introduces two characters of some importance to the story: a seagull and a serpent (mark my words!).


	8. The Seagull and the Serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your feedback and kudos - it makes all the writing and editing so much easier.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this one.

Charlotte had come to enjoy the early morning hours in the office, when Tom Parker was not yet about, causing unrest with his irritating energy. She had a cup of tea, went through the weekend’s reports and emails, and enjoyed a little chat with James Stringer, who came by to see Mr Parker and decided to stay a moment even though Mr Parker was not there yet. Charlotte told him about the luncheon party, though not about the shining-knight-part, and he invited her to walk over to Regency Row later in the day and inspect the bathroom tiles that had finally been delivered. 

After he was gone, she listened in to Esther trying to shake off Babington’s attentions. Sidney’s friend had carried his breakfast plate from the Conservatory to the lobby and was now leaning on the reception desk, sipping his coffee and keeping the head receptionist from her work. “Come on, Esther. It’s just a phone number. I’m not going to harass you with drunken calls in the middle of the night. No calls at all if you don’t want them. And no messages if it comes to that. I promise.”

“Then what would you want with my phone number? Sell it to the highest bidder?”

“I’d just like to have it on my phone and know that I _could_ call you. Theoretically.” Esther sighed.

“Babington, why do you persist, when you are treated with so little civility? Is that some form of masochism?”

Charlotte heard Babington chuckle. “Certainly not.”

“Why, then?”

“All I know is that the more I see you, Esther Denham, and the more nonchalantly you reject my advances, the more intense my desire for you grows.”

“Well spoken,” Esther said, sounding more acquiescent. Back in the office, Charlotte felt her cheeks flush. He did talk like the hero of a romantic novel. She could not help but wonder how it would feel like to be adored like that – and whether she would have Esther’s strength of resistance.

“Good morning, my dear.” Mr Parker strolled in. “Any news from the accounting department?”

Charlotte returned into work mode. “Yes, actually… I’ve been going through the weekend’s reports, and there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh, is there?” Mr Parker picked up the mail, filed through the envelopes and put them down again, leaving them unopened. 

“Yes. You see, I’ve been reading the manager report…”

“Not much to read there,” Mr Parker said with a grin. “It’s only numbers, numbers, numbers.”

“Incidentally, I stumbled over the number of complimentary rooms. This weekend alone, we have given free rooms to your brother’s friends and Miss Lambe – with Miss Lambe staying in the Denham Suite for free until the middle of July.”

“Yes, of course. She’s family. I mean, nearly family. Nearly Sidney’s family, and he is family.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. She had expected that name to pop up in the conversation. “But the hotel was fully booked on Saturday night. We could have sold those rooms to paying guests.”

Mr Parker looked at her, taken aback. “Oh, my dear. What are you suggesting? That I ask my brother’s friends to vacate their rooms so that I can sell them?”

Basically, that was what Charlotte had been thinking of. “Your brother is staying in one of the staff rooms as well,” she said. 

“Yes, but then he’s my brother. His friends will make good on the invitation by promoting the hotel to their friends. That’s how you make business these days, my dear.” 

“But Miss Lambe, occupying in the Denham suite for so long…”

“A favour to Sidney.” Mr Parker looked at his phone. But Charlotte was not going to desist.

“Her father is a wealthy man, I understand. Surely he can afford to pay a nominal charge to cover the costs for energy, laundry and cleaning?”

“What?”

“A special rate. A family and friends rate,” she went on, feeling more confident now. 

“But that would be nothing but peanuts, my dear.”

“If she’s staying until the middle of July, and you charge thirty pounds per night, that quickly comes up to more than two-thousand pounds. I don’t think that’s peanuts, especially if you add up the current costs plus the loss of profit you have because you cannot sell the suite to paying guests.”

Mr Parker was staring at her, large-eyed and somehow, Charlotte thought, looking strained and tired. “That’s very interesting, very interesting indeed. I’ll think about it… and now I must dash. Stringer Junior is expecting me on Regency Row. – Take the afternoon off, my dear. You’ve been working hard these days.”

*

It was a fine and sunny day, and as they had no other duties, Babington and Crowe had moved right on from having breakfast in the Conservatory to having a champagne snack on the terrace in front of the Conservatory. That was where Sidney found them after a morning of work. He had tried to get hold of George Lambe – in vain, that man and wife number three were still somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean – and tried to talk sense into Gigi.

With that failed as well, he had spent the next two hours advising an Australian client on how to make sure that the future ex-wife received only as little as possible of their joint capital. It was a decidedly unromantic task, and it was not made easier by the fact that Charlotte Heywood kept popping up in his head, taking his mind off his client’s divorce.

_If my opinion is not agreeable, I’m suddenly too young and too inexperienced to have one._

_We are all entitled to missteps._

_Don’t you agree, Mr Parker?_

Despite her scathing words at Lady Denham’s luncheon table, she had been such a pleasant thing to look at in that tight-fitting dress, with her hair braided and pinned up to show her delicate neckline (was that a beauty spot on her shoulder?), and a very natural-looking make-up enlarging her eyes. Her eyes! How could such a small person have such large eyes, such full lips, such - no. Sidney was not going to continue that thought. That girl was a mess, too short in size and too big in almost every other aspect. Fortunately, he preferred blonde, petite, ladylike women anyway.

“Parker!” Crowe greeted him, taking his sunglasses off. “You old bore. Where have you been? Come and join us for a glass of the Veuve’s best!” Sidney eyed the bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the Champagne bucket on the table and wondered whether it was the first or the second. Or the third. And whichever one it was: whether someone had thought of telling his friends that indulging in Champagne on Monday morning was not part of the free weekend package.

“Come along, Sidney.” Babbers offered him a chair. “Take a seat, take a glass and let us bring out a toast on you: Sidney Parker. How good it is to have friends in the hotel industry.”

So no-one had told them about the Veuve not being part of the package, Sidney decided. He sat down with a smile that did not reach his eyes, snapped with his fingers to get the waiter’s attention and ordered the lunch menu. He would also take care of the bill, and make sure that the champagne was included.

“I had expected you to be leaving this morning,” he said to Babington. “Or are you going to have another lesson on the golf course?”

“Sir Edward Denham can’t find an extra slot to squeeze me in. Seems to be very popular, the man.” Sidney, who had his own opinion on the golf instructor, shrugged his shoulders. 

“Doesn’t make sense to play golf in Babbers’ state anyway,” Crowe said, feeding breadcrumbs to a curious seagull. “He might hit himself with the ball.”

“I’m perfectly sober,” Babington claimed. 

“You are not. I’m perhaps a little tipsy, but you are drunk. If not by champagne, then by your infatuation with that Denham creature.”

Sidney sighed. Why did all conversations lead to the topic of love in the end? “I’ll let Tom know that you are staying for another night,” he said, snapping his finger at the waiter again. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind. – Let’s order.”

Lunch was delicious. They had reached the dessert – another one of Arthur’s creations, the Pineapple Surprise, a superb combination of Pineapple, cream and coconut – when Tom came walking across the terrace towards their table. “Ah, the great hotelier himself,” Crowe cried, his voice audibly slurring, for they had added white wine to their lunch, and with no need to drive back to London, there was no need to hold back on alcohol either.

“Gentleman, good to see you. Hope you’re enjoying yourselves?” Tom said with that big smile of his. Sidney, however, who knew his brother only too well, believed to detect a certain strain behind the professional façade.

“Absolutely,” Crowe said. “Join us for a glass of champagne. Or wine. Or is it time for drinks already?”

“Would love to, but I need to have a word with Sidney. In private.”

Sidney nodded and followed his brother to a table in the near-empty Conservatory. With the weather being beautiful as it was, most guests preferred the terrace. “Well, what is it?” he asked.

“How do your friends like Sanditon?” Tom said.

“They like the food and the drink enough to stay another night. If you have space, that is. Otherwise, they’ll move into the attic.”

There was a happy gleam in Tom’s eyes. “But of course, they are welcome to stay… stay as long as they like, in fact. Splendid! – Do you think they could be persuaded into buying one of the apartments on Regency Row?”

“What?” Sidney asked, thinking he had misheard. 

“The apartments,” Tom said and waved away the waiter who had been approaching their table. “Do you think your friends could be convinced of buying?”

“I believed the apartments were an extension of the hotel. To attract families and self-catering guests, wasn’t that the idea?”

“Yes. And it still is. But I – my business partners… the bank has suggested we sell some of the apartments and undertake the management if the buyer wants to rent them out to holiday-makers.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Sidney said, though he thought he did only too well. But he wanted to hear it in Tom’s own words. 

“It’s a question of cash flow,” his brother said. “If we sell them now, we’ll have an immediate cash flow and a safe source of income, depending on the buyer’s financing method. It’s easier to calculate than the hotel business.”

“But that wasn’t the original plan.”

“Oh well.” Tom shrugged his shoulders. “If conditions change, you have to adapt to new conditions if you want to survive. Now, do you think you could talk your friends into buying in?”

“No,” Sidney said straightaway. It was, in fact, the most non-sensical idea he had heard in a long time.

“But why not? They seem to be enjoying themselves, they might enjoy a second home on the south coast.” 

“And I enjoyed my last holiday on George Lambe’s yacht, yet it hasn’t come to my mind to buy one myself. They are enjoying themselves because they get free drinks and because Babington is in love with Esther. – This is Sanditon, Tom. Not Majorca or the south of France or the Costa Brava, but _Sanditon._ A beautiful but boring spot on a coast with long winters and short summers and generally unpredictable weather in any season. And as long as you can get flights to France or Spain that are cheaper than a train ticket from London to the Sussex Coast, Sanditon will remain the sleeping beauty.” Speaking of beauty: Charlotte Heywood came walking up to them.

“I’m finishing for the day if that’s alright,” she said to Tom, not seeing Sidney at all. Oh, that bloody dimple in her chin.

“Of course, my dear, of course. As I said: You well deserve an afternoon off.”

“Thank you, Mr Parker. I’ve left the invoices that are due this week on your desk. I’ve also checked the new guest reviews and emailed you drafts to answer them. Oh, and there is a new Instagram post out right now.”

“Splendid, my dear, splendid.” She was gone, Tom’s gaze following her thoughtfully. “A very clever young woman. Too progressive with her ideas, sometimes, but altogether extraordinarily capable.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sidney murmured.

“But Sidney.” Tom’s quick mood had changed again, leaving him looking strained and exhausted. “I’m beset with worries. Stringer bothers me about the workmen’s pay every day, the suppliers want their bills paid, Lady D is threatening to withdraw her investment, and what will become of it if anything happens to her… if Edward inherits… I have to keep one-hundred-fifty years of family tradition alive, I have to think of Mary and the children, of Arthur and Diana – of our staff. I am at my wit’s end, while you… your rich friends…”

“Enough!” Sidney slammed his fist on the table, longing for his only real friend, the punching ball. “Why is it always my responsibility to pull you from the fire, Tom?”

“Because I once did the same for you. As you well know,” his brother gravely said. For a second, Sidney closed his eyes. Tom would use that phrase even in fifty years, when they were both old men, hopefully sitting on a bench facing Sanditon’s harbour, counting the trawlers that sailed out. _I once did the same for you_.

“Alright. I’ll do what I can to promote the apartments, in London and elsewhere, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Thank you, brother,” Tom said, standing and patting Sidney’s shoulders. “That’s all I ask of you. Thank you.”

When Sidney returned to the terrace, his friends had moved on from white wine to drinks. Babington was feeding more crumbs to the curious seagull, calling it Esther and insisting that it looked like his beloved, and Crowe fiddled around with his phone, trying to take a selfie with a ray of the sun illuminating his gin tonic. “I’m an artist,” he told Sidney who longed for the punching ball again. 

“Right. Tom says you’re both welcome to stay. Stay as long as you like.”

“Did you hear that, Esther?” Babington slurred. Esther didn’t hear but stalked away. 

“Saucy bitch,” Crowe said. “Oh! Look. She did it again.”

“Esther?” Babington was quickly moving towards the melancholy stage of drunkenness, while Crowe, who was more used to the strong stuff, suddenly was all sober again. 

“No. The trainee. Spunky little Charlotte Heywood.” She is worse than a bluebell in May, Sidney thought. Popping up literally everywhere. “She’s made another Instagram post,” Crowe said. “A funny one. Have a look!” 

Sidney had a look. The post was a picture of Kamila, the assistant housekeeper, geared up like a superhero with her cleaning equipment, holding a duster and a spray bottle as if about to face Thanos in the final battle. _Our local hero in the fight for hygiene,_ the caption said. _#sanditon #sanditongrandhotel #notwithoutmyteam #kamilaisthebest_

But it was not the caption that really caught his eye. It was the likes. 

_mrscampion likes this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, something is going to happen "Down by the Sea".


	9. Down by the Sea

_mrscampion likes this_

Sidney was still staring at the three words. They did not mean anything, of course. Many people were called Campion. Perhaps not as many as Smith or Miller, or maybe even Parker, but the name was widespread enough. And people chose the most idiotic aliases on social media platforms. It did not mean anything. At all.

“Are you alright, old man?” Crowe asked. “Not getting furious at little Charlotte again, are you?”

“You should find yourself a bird as well,” Babington babbled as another seagull was stalking towards their table. “Look, Esther is coming back to me.” 

“I’m fine,” Sidney lied. She would not, would she? Then he pulled himself together. It was eight years, come the summer. He had not thought of her for… well, he had been thinking of her practically every time he reminded himself that he preferred the blonde, petite ladylike type to short, freckled, outspoken country girls. Oh, God, how he craved a distraction.

He would try the punching ball first, and if that did not do the trick, he would go for fresh air and some more bracing exercise. He knew exactly where to get it. “I’m off, boys. See you tonight.”

*

Charlotte took the public footpath along the cliff that led down into town, and she enjoyed every step of her walk, even though the trail was quite busy with hikers and Nordic walkers and some idiots riding their mountain-bikes against the rules.

To her right, the hill gently swept towards the golf course, dotted with gorse bushes and dog-roses close to bloom. But the real glory was to her left: the sea, reflecting the blue colour of the sky like an endless mirror. It was impossible not to be invigorated by the sheer view, and she felt happy and content with her choice for a traineeship. So much better than a stiff luxury hotel in a crowded place like London, New York or Dubai. In a moment like this, standing high above Sanditon, inhaling the sea-breeze and looking out across the Channel, it did not feel like work but like a permanent holiday.

When Charlotte finally reached the town’s high street, the first familiar face she met was Constable Hankins. There was no way to pretend that she had not seen him, so she braced himself for another lecture on the Parkers’ violations of traffic law, but the constable had a very different topic on his mind. “I hear that… ahem, Mrs Griffiths is back at the hotel?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” Charlotte said, slightly surprised and unsure about how much she was to divulge about Georgiana Lambe’s stay – especially since despite having lunched with her at Lady Denham’s, she still had not really talked to the girl.

“And she is doing well?” the constable asked. “Mrs Griffiths?”

“I… hope so.” Any other answer would have been a lie. Poor Mrs Griffiths was not doing well. Someone had actually made a list on the whiteboard of the staff canteen counting the times Georgiana had locked out her companion – or whatever that poor woman was supposed to be – leaving her hurrying down to reception and asking for a spare key. 

“Very well. Excellent.” The constable smiled, his eyes taking on a somewhat dreamy expression. “Then may I ask you to convey my greetings to Mrs Griffiths?” 

“Of course, Mr Hankins,” Charlotte promised. The constable wished her a nice day, and she walked on along Sanditon High Street. She bought some postcards for her sisters, looked at the bakery’s display – beautiful, but not as exquisite as Arthur’s pieces of art – and longingly gazed in the shoe shop’s windows. Still no need for fancy high heels for her - the next ball was the Midsummer’s ball in June, and Charlotte expected to be on the service crew again.

Her final stop was Trafalgar House, the former Parker family residence that now housed the library, the Sanditon museum and the Study Café. Charlotte decided to leave the museum for a rainy day. She registered in the library, borrowed a book on social media marketing that Sidney Parker’s friend Crowe had recommended to her, and another one with sayings for every day of the year – another recommendation from Crowe: “Some of your followers will enjoy a profound thought now and then.” 

She could have googled those profound thoughts, of course, but she was old-fashioned enough to enjoy the gentle whisper of the pages when she leafed through a book. 

After a little chat with the librarian, she carried her prey over to the near-empty café and ordered a latte macchiato and an apple crumble from a rather good-looking waiter. The café really was a peculiar place, airy and full of light, with gilded pillars and an impressive fireplace. It seemed to be a small museum in itself, with bits and pieces on display: a plaster model of how the town would have looked like two hundred years ago, the head of a Greek or Roman statue lying on its cheek on the chimney sill, a collection of fossils, and the walls covered with framed blueprints from a time when designs were done by hand and not by a computer programme.

“It’s called the Study because it used to be the first Mr Parker’s study,” the waiter told Charlotte, serving her the coffee and the crumble as she was looking at the design of a delicate pagoda. “He was the great projector. Or that’s what the family keep saying about him. I believe he was quite a pain in the ass.”

“Really?” Charlotte thought of the painting in the hotel’s staircase, of the elegant man imitating Napoleon’s posture and gazing into a future only visible to himself. 

“Yeah. You know, the Denham’s, they’ve been doing nothing but sit on their money for centuries. But the Parkers… first, it was Parker Senior with his dreams of a seaside resort, then his son with the hotel… they’ve been promising us Sanditon’s great future for two-hundred years, but in the end, the only thing that happens time and again is that they nearly ruin themselves in the process.”

Charlotte took a closer look at the waiter. There was something familiar about his muscly stature and his rather stunning green eyes. “I’m sorry, but… have we met before?” she asked. He gave her a grin. 

“That’s an overused line, but I believe we have. You’re the new trainee up at the hotel, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m Charlotte Heywood.” She still could not place him.

“Fred. Fred Robinson. I saw you when James gave you a tour of Regency Row. I’m doing the plumbing works.”

“Oh… but then what are you doing here?”

“Just helping out my cousin. She owns the café. And it’s good to make a little money on the side.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, stunned. 

“Sorry for disparaging your boss and his ancestors,” Fred said with a grin. “They are just not the easiest people to work with.”

“James never complains.”

“No, he’s far too kind-hearted for that.”

“Are you two friends?”

“Besties. Since school,” Fred gave her another grin. “Would do anything for him, and vice versa.”

“That’s nice,” Charlotte said. Fred had to serve the other tables, and she returned to her coffee and the crumble and to leafing through her books. When she finally asked for the bill, Fred just shook his head. “Consider it a bribe for you to represent my interests with your boss.”

She laughed and stuffed the books into her bag. “I will. And thank you.”

For the way home, she chose the way first along the beach and then the path leading up to the cliff. The wind had strengthened a little, and fleecy clouds had formed in the distance, breaking the perfection of the blue sky. There were still hikers about, and the odd inhabitant of Sanditon walking their dog, but now in the late afternoon, the path was notably less busy than on her way down. Which is why Charlotte could not miss the solitary figure hovering at the cliff edge a few steps ahead. Georgiana Lambe, she realised with a start. Leaning forward and staring deep down into the abyss in front of her. “Gigi?” she cried, running towards her. “Gigi! What’s the matter with you?”

Gigi turned to Charlotte, gasped and tumbled into her arms, a shivering mess of sobs and tears. They both collapsed onto the grass. With four younger sisters, Charlotte knew that sometimes, silence and a gentle embrace were more helpful than the most inspired words, so she said nothing but let Gigi cry, just squeezing her shoulders from time to time and offering a “There, there” when she shook in her despair.

Eventually, Gigi sobbed once more, then grabbed the tissue Charlotte had at the ready and blew her nose. 

“Do you want to tell me what is the matter?” Charlotte softly asked, releasing her.

“I wanted to end it all… I suppose no one here would care if I did.”

Charlotte was horrified. “Don’t say such a thing. _Never_ say such a thing, Gigi. Look, I know that we have not had much to do with each other, but… _I_ would care. And Arthur would. And probably even Mr Sidney Parker.”

“Yes, but only because it would give him such trouble explaining everything to my father.” Gigi blew her nose once more.

“I’m certainly not his biggest fan,” Charlotte said, “but I don’t believe he wants to see you unhappy.”

“No? And that’s why he imprisons me in a rotting hotel room in a sandy place at the end of the world with this… this…gorgon as my warden?” Gigi looked as if she wanted to smash glass cabinets again.

Charlotte chuckled. “Now you make Sidney Parker sound much more like Mr Rochester than either of them deserves. And it’s not a rotting hotel room, but the Denham Suite at the Sanditon Grand Hotel.”

“Do you think me very spoilt and sulky?”

“Not at all. I wish I could help you, but I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I was expelled from school,” Gigi said, gazing into the distance. Charlotte nodded. 

“Will you tell me why?”

“We… differed about a matter of art.”

“Aha,” Charlotte said, not much the wiser.

“Under normal circumstances, it would have been just that, the expulsion, some trouble with my father, him ultimately making a donation to some other place that then graciously would allow me to continue my education.”

“I see,” Charlotte said. Such a matter would have been handled very differently at Hereford Comprehensive, but that was of no importance right now.

“Unfortunately, my father has signed all responsibility for me over to Mr Sidney Parker, so that he can sail the world with Number Three.”

“Who would be that?”

“His new wife. – My stepmother,” Gigi said with a sigh. “They come in numbers and go after five years, to be replaced by a younger version. By the rate he is keeping, I expect Number Four to be my own age.”

“Good God,” Charlotte said, whose parents had been married for nearly thirty years – though not always happily if one was perfectly honest. “But why did your father choose Sidney Parker as your… what do you call it? foster-father? guardian?”

“Daddy believed we’d get on well. We did when I was ten, and he first came to stay with us. Sidney was some sort of mentee… or trainee for Daddy. Brilliant student, great with numbers, but kind of a troubled kid as well. I don’t know the details, but I know there was a story of drug abuse.”

“Sidney Parker?” Charlotte asked incredulously. Gigi nodded. 

“Absolutely. He wasn’t always as cold and superior as he is today. – Anyway, Daddy believed he was the right person to look after me while he was on his year-long honeymoon, but then Daddy is terribly short-sighted. A genius when it comes to money, but doesn’t see what’s going on right under his nose. So here I am. A prisoner in the dullest of all dull places, laughed at by ugly old women and sleazy golf instructors. Before we came here, Sidney confiscated my phone and cancelled my credit cards. My only hope of escape is the day when my keeper forwards me to Antigua to meet my father and Number Three on the yacht. Which will just be another prison.”

“You can survive this,” Charlotte said and patted her shoulders, thinking that there must be more to the story if Sidney Parker had indeed found it necessary to cut off Gigi from the outside world. “I promise. I’m on your side. – Come on. Have you been to the beach?”

“This is not a beach but a miserable stretch of pebbles if you’ve ever been to Antigua.”

“Well, I haven’t. And I won’t allow you to complain about Sanditon’s beach before you haven’t peddled in the sea. I dare you!” Reluctantly, Gigi followed her on the narrow and steep trail leading from the cliff directly to the secluded rocky part of the beach, and even more reluctantly, she followed Charlotte’s suit and pulled off her socks and trainers. 

“Come on,” Charlotte cried. “It’s fine!” With a shriek, Gigi joined her in the water.

“It’s freezing!”

“It’s invigorating. I can’t wait to go swimming in the summer.” Charlotte strode through the shallow waves, feeling free and happy.

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever been to the Caribbean.”

“But you can’t have the Caribbean right now, Gigi. And part of growing up is perhaps learning to accept that you can’t have everything you want, and to make the best of what you have instead.”

“You’re so sensible!”

“No, I’m not.” Charlotte laughed and kicked a full load of water at her new friend. Gigi returned the favour, leaving them both wet, giggling, and kicking more water at each other.

“Georgiana Lambe!” A high-pitched voice disrupted their fun. 

“Oh,” Gigi said, her laughter ceasing. “The gorgon has found me.”

“Where have you been?” Mrs Griffiths cried. “This is most irresponsible of you. I was about to send a search party.”

Charlotte understood immediately. Gigi was a millionaire’s daughter. A prime target for kidnapping, walking alone along the cliff as she had. “This was all my idea,” she said, moving towards the beach. “Don’t blame Gigi.”

“I would have expected you to be more sensible, Miss Heywood. – You are lucky your foster father doesn’t answer his phone,” Mrs Griffiths turned to Gigi who picked up her socks and trainers. “ _He_ would have called the police.” That reminded Charlotte of something. 

“Speaking of the police, Mrs Griffiths – the local constable, Mr Hankins, has asked me to convey his greetings to you.”

Mrs Griffiths, perplexed, was staring at her. She was very red in the face from the excitement about Gigi anyway, but Charlotte could have sworn that she blushed even deeper. Then she pulled herself together. “Has he? – Now, that is a decent, respectable man… What are you laughing about, Gigi?”

“I’m not laughing. I’m smiling at Charlotte because she finally made me enjoy myself in this awful place.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the hotel,” Charlotte promised and waved Gigi good-bye as her new friend followed Mrs Griffiths up the track to the cliff. 

She was glad to have met a kindred spirit, but she did not want to return home right now. The weather was still beautiful, despite the breeze getting a little stronger. Now in mid-May, the evening light lingered for long on the ever-changing sea. Charlotte inhaled the fresh, salty air and enjoyed the sensation of the wet sand under her bare feet as she continued her way. She wandered further away from the main beach and the town than ever before, here and there bending down to pick up a shell or an oddly shaped pebble or a shard polished by saltwater.

How simple and easy everything was here down by the sea. How distant and petty the rest of the world seemed when one stood with the feet in the shallow surf, listened to the everlasting sound of the ocean and gazed across a never-ending surface of white and blue and silver. 

After some time, Charlotte reached a small, rocky cove, promising another stretch of sand on the other side. Carefully, she climbed over the rocks, past tidal pools and colonies of barnacles. She was ready to decide that she had found the ultimate secret beach when something caught her eye: a pile of sportswear, a pair of trainers, and a towel, all left on a small rock. 

Someone was here. 

She was disturbing somebody’s solitude.

And it was too late to retreat. The waves parted.

*

There was always this moment of hesitation, this second it took to overcome all doubts before plunging into the cold sea. Next was the shock when the fresh waves met the body. And then came freedom.

Those were the three steps Sidney had known since earliest childhood, since playing on Sanditon’s beaches as a tiny toddler. And although he had swum in many oceans since, and much enjoyed the more pleasant water temperatures in places like Majorca or the Caribbean, nothing was like that first dive into the Channel at Sanditon’s secret cove. Naked, as it was the tradition among Sanditon men. It made him forget everything. Gigi. Tom. mrscampion. Even that bloody dimple.

He put quite a distance between himself and the shoreline and then continued in crawl stroke parallel to the coast. He let himself float in the waves: There was nothing but air and sky above him and the depths of the Channel underneath. He felt strong and relaxed, his mind emptied of all cares. He took another dive – to look out for the giant sea serpent, or perhaps to immerse himself in the water and wash everything else away. 

But the secret about swimming with these water temperatures was to know when it was enough. So reluctantly, he returned to the cove, crawling parallel to the coastline again and then taking a final dive towards the shore. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he emerged from the water, shaking his head, sending droplets in all directions. The saltwater blinded him for a moment, as did the reflections of the low sun. 

For a second, he believed it had to be a reflection of the sun indeed, or a rock, or the sea serpent come to life as a siren. But it was not. Or was it?

It was Charlotte Heywood, standing on the beach, with cheeks the colour of a red starfish, staring at him in all his glory.

“Oh!” Belatedly, she turned her back on him.

“Miss Heywood,” he heard himself say, trying hard to suppress a grin. Really, this was utterly ridiculous. “Am I never to get away from you?”

“Mr Parker, I assure you, you are the last person I wished to see.” She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. Obviously, the situation was a lot funnier for him than for her. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t really think what I was saying.”

There was no reply from her, only the quivering of her shoulders to indicate how uncomfortable she was. Any movement from his side would have added to that discomfort. So he remained where he was, his feet in the water.

Suddenly, she moved. “Excuse me,” she said and ran away, as fast as the rocks and pebbles on the beach would allow it, and without ever turning back.

Sidney followed her with his eyes, sharing a quick and secret smile with himself. He gave her a few seconds for her escape before he moved towards the rock where he had left his clothes and the towel. She must be mortified, poor thing. He, on the other hand, he decided while towelling off his biceps, had shown her nothing to be ashamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, there is something called "real life", so I will not be able to post updates for the next one or two days.
> 
> However, I can tell you that the next chapter will be called "The Morning After", and that it features another appearance of the seagull.


	10. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments. I have been well entertained while I was trying to make sense of "real life".
> 
> Guess what happened out there?  
> I asked a colleague to reconsider a decision that I believed would lead to unnecessary disruption.  
> He told me I wasn’t qualified to have an opinion on the matter.  
> I explained why I was absolutely qualified to have an opinion on the matter.  
> He told me to watch my tone.
> 
> Somehow, these incidents are so much more inspiring in fiction than in the real world.  
> So let's get back and find out what happened "The Morning After".

There was a sledgehammer in his head, in front of the room or on Tom’s bloody building site. Sidney tentatively opened one eye and saw a seagull observing him. He closed his eye again. The hammering continued. 

“Show some mercy. It’s rudely early!”,” he groaned, lifting his head. Not a good idea. It weighed a ton. The seagull kept watching him. He laid his head down again. Oh, those wonderfully soft pillows of the Sanditon Grand Hotel! 

But the hammering continued, then suddenly stopped.

“Housekeeping!” someone chirped, there was the short “woosh” of the electronic door lock being opened, and then: “Oh, Mr Parker… oh, I’m so sorry…”

He opened his eyes again, ignoring the lightning strokes that shot through his head. One of his brother’s chambermaids was standing in front of him, staring at him in horror. He was not in his attic room, but in one of the hotel rooms, sprawled across the bed in yesterday’s sportswear. A seagull was sitting on the bedside table. And as he moved, something clinked under his belly. 

“I’m so sorry,” the chambermaid said once more and moved back to the open door, where she crashed right into Babington and Crowe.

“Look at the state of him, Babbers!”, Crowe said with visible delight. “Cannot help but scare young girls away, can he?” His more chivalrous friend took care of the chambermaid.

Somehow, Sidney managed to hoist himself in an upright position. There was more clinking as empty minibar bottles fell from the bed. Babington, who had forwarded the chambermaid to the next room, picked them up. “Don’t you remember anything about last night, old man?”

Sidney closed his eyes and tried to. He had been swimming, down at the cove. He had dived for the sea serpent and found a siren instead. No. Something else. Someone else. Oh, God. He rubbed his temples. “Did I tell you that…”

“… you exposed yourself to little Charlotte Heywood in all your manly beauty? – Yes, you did,” Crowe said with that malicious grin of his. “You were quite sober, but then you insisted we go down to the Crown. Unfortunately, we met this architect chap and his plumber friend, and it turned out your Miss Heywood never runs away when she sees either of them.”

Sidney groaned. Vaguely, he did remember James Stringer’s complacent face, as well as something about shared lunches and shared salads bowls. The young architect was just the kind of man who never mistook trainees for babysitters and never dispensed tongue lashings to presumptuous girls. The kind of man decent enough to turn away when ambushed on the beach by a siren. The _boring_ kind of man.

And Crowe was not done yet.

“I lost count of your drinks after your encounter with Stringer, but at some stage, you convinced the landlord to sell you that thing, and you gave it to Babington so that Esther does not escape him anymore.” He pointed at the seagull that was, in fact, a wooden model – a slightly worn-out wooden model that had probably graced the walls of the Crown for centuries.

Sidney shook his head. The sledgehammer returned. The only thing he remembered clearly was Charlotte Heywood, staring at him as he rose from the water.

“After last orders, you insisted we take a nightcap from Babbers’ minibar,” Crowe continued. “And after the fifth bottle, you slumbered off into sweet dreams of sweet Charlotte.”

“I should never have told you,” Sidney said. He could bear their teasing, but Miss Heywood – Charlotte… deserved better.

“Never mind that now,” Babington said, nudging him towards the bathroom. “You have a shower, and a shave, and breakfast, and then we’ll say good-bye to Sanditon.”

*

At around the same time that Sidney was fighting his hangover under the shower and vowing never to touch a drop of alcohol again, Charlotte walked down the staircase of the hotel, clutching a pile of delivery notes from the F&B manager’s office to her breast, and vowing silently never – _never –_ and under no circumstances to speak a single word with the man again.

Not Manoel, of course, who was quite nice and definitely gay, but Sidney Parker. She had endured many embarrassing situations during her teenage years. Sharing a flat in Bristol with three other girls during her studies had also… well, included some less desirable encounters. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing, came even close to watching Sidney Parker emerge from the sea as if he was Poseidon’s son himself. For she had watched him, had been watching him several seconds before turning around. He did look like a Greek god. And he certainly knew that she had been watching him.

“Good morning, Charlotte!” Charlotte, close to the bottom of the stairs, gasped, clutched her delivery notes with one hand and grabbed for the handrail with the other. It was only Mary Parker.

“Oh. Good morning, Mary.”

“Did you enjoy your time off yesterday? We never saw you all evening.”

“Yes. No. – I went down to the beach to gather shells. I think time… ran away with me.”

“Anything impressive catch your eye?”

“What?” Charlotte felt her colour rise again. Impressive? That was one word to describe what she had seen.

“Shell-wise?” Mary Parker was all friendliness. Surely, she had no idea-

“Oh. No. I – I came back empty-handed.”

“How disappointing,” Mary said. “I hope you’ll have more luck next time.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said and quickly walked over to Mr Parker’s office, dumping the delivery notes on his desk. Mr Parker was not there, giving her some space to breathe until her cheeks had returned to their normal colour. She overheard Esther have another conversation with her staunch admirer at the reception desk, and that took her mind off other topics for a moment.

“What’s that, Babington?”

“That’s your namesake. Esther, the wooden seagull. I thought I’d leave her with you, as a constant reminder of my honest affection, until we meet again.”

“Babington, that is about the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. It looks as if it’s been catching dust in a dingy corner for two hundred years, with nothing but woodworms for company.”

“Excellent. Then it will make you remember that love never sees the ugly, but only the beauty in the beloved. As I see in you.” The man was such a romantic; it was a mystery to Charlotte why Esther did not melt right away across the reception desk and into his arms.

“Don’t even think of hope, Babington,” she said instead, and Charlotte heard the sound of something wooden being dumped into the bin.

For the next hour, she managed to concentrate on checking delivery notes against bills, ticking off each position and signing them. It was an excellent occupation to keep her mind distracted from-

“Sidney!” That was Tom Parker, out on the corridor. “I relied on you.”

“I cannot force them. They are leaving today.”

Surely they would not come to the office? Sidney Parker had never been to the office before, at least not as long as she was inside. She heard footsteps just in front of the door, and with one decisive move, dived under the desk. Squinting past some folders stacked in front of her on the floor, she saw two pairs of legs appear.

“How am I to sell these apartments, Sidney?” Mr Parker said. “I must admit I was relying on…” He paused, blinked, then bent his head. It was inevitable. “Charlotte?”

“There it is!” she exclaimed, dramatically clutching a random paper from the bin and emerging from behind the desk.

“Miss Heywood,” Sidney Parker said, all calmness and serenity. “Always popping up when least expected.”

Damn the man! “I – I need to show this to the F&B manager,“ she said and rushed out of the office with her head held down and her cheeks flaming up again.

She was actually standing right in front of Manoel’s office when she remembered to have a look at the paper she had retrieved from the bin. It was a letter from Unesta Business Insurers, and once she read the subject line, she realised that she had been quite lucky to have plucked it from the bin, for it must have landed there by accident. 

_Final reminder_ , it said. _Your insurance cover is about to be terminated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter's title is... oh well, it's very long and very German, so I won't bother you with it today.


	11. Dr. Fuchs Kunst- und Kulturreiseveranstalter GmbH & Co. KG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for your comments. I have a feeling that this seagull is trying to steal the show ... but I like her as well.
> 
> Out in the real world, the big boss caught wind of the rude colleague's behaviour, so I'm typing this with a smile.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Have a nice weekend, wherever you are.

Charlotte had hoped that Sidney would leave Sanditon together with his friends, but that hope was not to be fulfilled. Once he learned Mrs Griffiths’ version of the cliff adventure, he announced that he would stay at least another week and that he was not going to tolerate Gigi’s careless behaviour any longer. 

There was one plus side: Every morning after breakfast he vanished with his laptop, his phone and his earplugs into one of the empty function rooms on the first floor to do whatever he did for a living – something with finances, as Gigi told Charlotte: advising rich people about how to get even richer, and cutting a fine fee for himself in the process.

There was also a minus side: Whenever he was not working, Charlotte bumped into him. There was no way to escape him: he was leaving Gigi when she arrived to pick up her new friend for another walk, he was in the gym, mistreating the punching ball when she walked in to show Fred Robinson the leaking washbasin in the toilet, he drove up the road from the town in the Aston Martin when she drove down in the van to shuttle guests to the station. 

And even when he was not there, Tom Parker would wring his hands and say: “I’ll discuss this with Sidney,” and Arthur would make her taste his new interpretation of chocolate eclairs and say: “I wonder whether Sidney will like them,” and when she stood in to collect the girls from school on Wednesday afternoon, even Jenny and Alicia said: “You promised to go to the beach with us and Uncle Sidney, Charlotte.”

“I know,” Charlotte said. “We’ll find a day.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Umm, maybe on the weekend?”

“Friday!” Jenny determined.

“Friday,” she agreed with a sigh. At least that put an end to the discussion. So many things could happen until Friday. After she had handed the children over to their mother, she collected the cleaning lists from Housekeeping and rushed back to the office and back to work. That would keep her mind off Sidney Parker and his confounding behaviour.

*

It seemed to Sidney that the only place where he was not constantly hunted down by one of his siblings and pestered about apartment sales, chocolate eclairs and leaking washbasins was, in fact, Tom’s office. At least when Charlotte Heywood was out shuttling guests or picking up his nieces from school or having a lunch break with James Stringer. Tom himself seemed to be everywhere but in his office these days, always busy on the phone and in Regency Row, leaving the administration to his trainee. 

So when Sidney settled down behind the desk with a copy of the Financial Times, resting his feet on the table and immersing himself in the safe world of stock market figures, he did not expect Charlotte Heywood to rush in after two minutes, call “Mr Parker!” and then drop whatever she had been carrying when he lowered his paper. “Oh! I had thought to find…”

“The ubiquitous Miss Heywood,” he said, ostentatiously rolling his eyes, yet secretly amused. “Can’t I even read the news in peace?” 

“If you don’t wish to be disturbed, you might choose somewhere more secluded,” she answered, holding her head high and picking up her papers.

“I tried that.” He looked her square into the eyes. “It wasn’t entirely successful.” She froze. Just as intended, she was thinking of the cove. He could see it from her face. There was a colour rising to her cheeks as she stared back at him.

Well, maybe, it was the moment to come clean about that matter, to apologise (though he wasn’t entirely sure what to apologise for), or just to wipe out their history and start behaving with each other like normal people did. 

“Charlotte! Sidney!”

Alas, it was not meant to be. Tom strode into the room, grinning from one ear to the other, eyes large and colour high. It was his most dangerous face, the I-have-a-new-scheme-face. Sidney shuddered.

“Splendid! I need you two. And Esther. Esther! Go and call Clara and Mary, and then come to the office.”

“Actually,” Sidney said, “if this is a hotel matter, you don’t need me.”

“Really, Sidney? Is it now too much for me to ask for a few moments of my brother’s time? – Esther! Where are you?”

Sidney folded the newspaper, removed his feet from the table and started to check his phone, making sure he was looking as disinterested as possible. He did not want to be dragged into one of Tom’s foolhardy schemes, especially since usually he was the one who had to drag his brother out of them again. 

“What is it, Tom?” Mary hurried into the office, followed by Clara. Esther positioned herself as far as possible away from the housekeeper, checking her fingernails with a bored look. Charlotte Heywood, ever the nerdy trainee, held a clipboard in her hands and gazed expectantly at Tom. 

“My dears,” Tom solemnly said, “it is my great pleasure to announce that tomorrow, we will have the honour of welcoming Doktor Maximilian Fuchs to the Sanditon Grand Hotel.”

Everyone was staring at Tom with blank faces. 

“But who would be that?” Mary asked. Tom was beaming even more. 

“Doktor Fuchs, my dear, is the founder, owner and manager of _Doktor Fuchs Kunst- und…_ oh well, it’s a very long and German name, _but_ the important fact, my dear, is that he plans to accommodate his groups here with us. The international traveller, interested in culture and history. Twenty rooms, seven nights, Saturday to Saturday, for every week through from mid-June to mid-October. Plus half-board in the evenings, plus lunch packets every day, plus tea-time on the arrival day. Plus whatever they decide to spend extra in the Conservatory or at the bar. What do you say?”

“But isn’t that just the kind of guests Lady Denham does not want to see at the hotel?” Charlotte Heywood was actually asking what Sidney had been thinking.

“Ah, Lady Denham… who cares about the old dragon – sorry, Esther, sorry Clara. But you know what I mean. Once the penny rolls in, she won’t ask where it comes from. Did I mention that they’re paying a ninety per cent advance deposit?” Tom’s eyes were growing so large Sidney expected the pound-sign to appear in them any moment. “German reliability, no false promises there,” his brother added with a mock German accent.

“That is all very well, Tom, and I’m glad for you,” Sidney said, really meaning it. “What do I have to do with it?”

“You’re part of the welcome package, of course. Doktor Fuchs will arrive at Heathrow tomorrow at noon. I will meet him there and chauffeur him down to Sanditon. He’s not going to buy a pig in a poke, he wants to have a look around before he signs the contract – German thoroughness.” Tom gave a slightly hollow laugh. “Now, Esther, Clara: I need our best rooms as showrooms for tomorrow – sea-view, Sanditon-view, landside-view. Make sure they are in tip-top shape. I want no scratches on the wall, no curtains dangling from the rails. Doktor Fuchs is to stay in the Denham Suite…”

“The Denham Suite is occupied by Georgiana Lambe,” Esther said.

“Is it? Ah, yes, of course, Sidney’s Miss Lambe. Then he’ll have one of the upper tower rooms. You take care of that, Esther, I trust in you. Clara: I want a top VIP treatment. Bathrobe, slippers, amenity set, turn down service. You do this swan thing with towels, don’t you? I think that would be appropriate. I’ll ask Arthur to prepare some sweet culinary delights as a welcome gift… and Charlotte, my dear, you are so good with words: Maybe you can prepare a welcome card? – Tomorrow, I want you all turned out in your Sunday’s best and as British and charming as you can be.”

“I still don’t see where I figure in all this,” Sidney said. When everyone in the hotel was running wild about a German tour operator, the safest place to be for him seemed in one of the function rooms, seated in front of his laptop, settling the financial side of his Australian client’s divorce. Tom was looking at him, that slightly dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“You will park your car, Sidney. Next to the entrance door. And if Doktor Fuchs happens to show any interest in a vintage Aston Martin, you will invite him for a spin around our beautiful Sussex countryside.” Sidney opened his mouth and closed it again before saying anything. Tom clapped his hands. 

“Now, all hands on deck, you know what you have to do. Sanditon Grand, ahoy!” Mary, Clara and Esther filed out. Sidney followed them, leaving Charlotte Heywood with his brother. 

“Mr Parker, did you pay the invoice I told you about the other day?” he heard her ask.

“Which invoice, my dear?”

“The one from Unesta? The insurance company?”

“Ah! _That_ invoice! Of course. Not to worry, my dear, everything has been taken care of. Just a misunderstanding.”

Out on the corridor, Sidney smiled and shook his head. Charlotte Heywood was too nerdy, too outspoken, too ubiquitous and too short and too big at the same time, and altogether truly not his type.

Yet, in the long history of management trainees at the Sanditon Grand Hotel, she was the first one who had understood that it was not only the hotel that needed managing but his brother as well.

*

Tom Parker spent a full Thursday morning creating havoc among his staff and checking the online arrival board of Heathrow airport for any delays on flights from Frankfurt. When he finally left in the freshly washed and hoovered hotel van, Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. He would be gone for a good three hours at least, and she would use that time as efficiently as possible.

There were more open invoices that needed following up: one for a hen party that had never been paid because the hen had fallen for another cock, and another one for a christening party of a little Sanditonian that had turned out to be a cuckoo child – both matters Tom Parker evidently found too delicate to discuss with the debtors.

Charlotte also answered a call from Lydia Hillier, the social media advisor who, after nearly a week, had stumbled across the fact that someone had reset the passwords of all online accounts. 

“You present me a social media concept for the hotel, and if it’s feasible, I’ll give you the new passwords,” Charlotte said.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“A concept,” Charlotte repeated. “Mr Parker is paying you five hundred pounds every month for your work, so I believe the least you can do is explain to him how you intend to do that work.”

“But…”

“How about one week? Next Thursday? You can email it to assistant@sgh.co.uk.”

“Does Mr Parker know about this?” Lydia sounded quite excited, and not in a happy sense.

“Mr Parker has entrusted me with the supervision of all social media channels, so he’ll be looking forward to reading your concept. Just as I am.” Charlotte looked up and saw Sidney Parker standing in the doorframe, his arms crossed, staring at her. Was he checking on her work now? Oh, Lord. “Bye now, Lydia,” she chirped and rung off. 

“Who was that?” he asked. He was looking very dapper for Doktor Fuchs’s welcome, clean-shaven and combed, dressed in a tight-cut black suit – but no tie – and a crisp white shirt. Charlotte kept her answer short. The less she said, the less he could reproach her for.

“Lydia Hillier. The hotel’s social media advisor.” 

“The hotel has a social media advisor?”

“That was the topic of the conversation.”

“Did I hear you mention the figure of five hundred pounds a month?”

“There seems to be nothing wrong with your hearing, Mr Parker.” 

Sidney shook his head. “Anyway. – Mary sent me to tell you that Tom and Doktor Fuchs are on their way. We are all to gather in front of the entrance.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said. She expected him to leave while she shut down the computer and locked the door behind her, but he waited for her and accompanied her to the lobby. 

“How did that ghastly seagull end up on your desk?” he asked.

“Oh, Esther. Esther – the real Esther – dumped her into the bin, but I thought she might regret it one day, so I saved her.”

“Is that your mission? To save things? And people? Like Esther?”

“If you’re going to accuse me of meddling again…”

“I’m not. Just asking.” There was, in fact, no sign of anger in his face. Only curiosity. And, if one cared to look him in the eye, an unexpected gentleness.

Charlotte opened her mouth to tell him that she assumed Esther – the real Esther – was much fonder of Babington than she admitted. But then she remembered how it had ended the last time she made assumptions in front of him, and she simply said: “I want them both to be happy.”

They had reached the hotel entrance where Mary and Diana were already lined up, joined by Arthur in full pâtissier’s gear, and Esther, appearing haughtier than ever with her hair dramatically done up, and Clara, looking like a chambermaid from a movie set in a country estate during the Nineteen-Twenties. All innocence – and all lies, as Charlotte well knew after stumbling across Clara and Edward again this week, this time in a cleaning cupboard on the third floor.

Charlotte and Sidney joined the group, and soon enough, a honking horn announced the imminent arrival of the special guest. Mr Parker jumped out on the driver’s side, rushed around the van and opened the passenger’s door to reveal a slightly stout, balding, sandy-haired man in his sixties wearing old-fashioned nickel glasses. He inhaled deeply before he climbed out of his seat. “Ah! The air! Fresh sea air!”

Mr Parker beamed at him. “As I said, Doktor Fuchs. A fresh breeze for two-hundred years.”

“And what a beautiful building your hotel is!” Doktor Fuchs looked around himself quite happily and with evident approval.

“Yes.” Mr Parker actually took a bow. “Welcome to Sanditon, Doktor Fuchs. – As I told you, we are a family-run hotel, so may I present my wife…”

“Oh! What a pleasure. Mrs Parker!” He raised Mary’s hand and breathed a kiss on it. Charlotte wondered for a second whether such was still the custom in Germany but then decided that it was not and that Doktor Fuchs just mirrored his host’s bow. Mary seemed to be taken aback and delighted at the same time.

“And this is my sister, Diana, in charge of our gym and wellness area… and my youngest brother Arthur, our world-class pâtissier, who with his delightful creations will make sure that you need an hour in the gym in the first place.”

“Wonderful,” Doktor Fuchs said. His healthy cheek colour and well-rounded figure gave away a certain love for the good things in life.

“Here is my brother Sidney, who is not active in the hotel business, but, as you can see, always happy to join his family – and this young lady is my personal assistant, Charlotte Heywood. Any trouble you have, our Charlotte will fix it for you.” Charlotte, who had not expected such an accolade, felt her cheeks turn red.

“This is Esther Denham, our head receptionist, who with her dedicated team, will always take that extra mile to guarantee your guests are feeling at home – far away from home.” Mr Parker was talking catalogue speech again, but Doktor Fuchs did not seem to mind and said “Wonderful” once more. But then again, Charlotte thought, he had no idea that Esther’s dedicated team was mostly dedicated to their phones and their social media profiles.

“And finally, Clara Brereton, the good soul of our housekeeping department.” Clara gave a sweet smile and made a nice little curtsey as if these were, in fact, the Nineteen-Twenties.

“Wonderful,” Doktor Fuchs said for the third time. “Mr Parker, you have not promised too much. This is indeed an enchanted place. I can’t wait to see more of it.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Mr Parker said and ushered him inside. “I will show you to your room. I believe one of Arthur’s little snacks is waiting for you there, and when you have settled in, I suggest we take a tour of the house and then meet for a tea-time in the Conservatory to discuss all your questions.”

“Excellent, Mr Parker. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And here’s the elevator. My great-great-great-great-grandfather, Henry Parker, had it installed in 1868. We were one of the first hotels in Britain to offer such a commodity. - Sidney, would you be kind enough to take care of Doktor Fuchs’s luggage?” – and when the elevator’s doors closed behind Mr Parker and his guest of honour, Charlotte had the pleasure of seeing a reluctant Sidney act as a luggage porter. She wondered whether he would be tipped.

Half an hour later, she joined Mr Parker and his guest for the tour of the house, having a clipboard ready to take notes. Doktor Fuchs quickly declared himself completely under the spell of Sanditon and delighted in everything: the room with sea-view, the room with Sanditon-view, the room with landside-view. The rooms’ maritime colour scheme of blue and white, the headboards that were made to look like driftwood, the bedside lights inspired by hurricane lamps, the little metal anchors serving as coat hooks. He said “wonderful” so many times that Charlotte lost count, and every time he did, Mr Parker’s smile grew wider.

On their way down the staircase, Doktor Fuchs stopped in front of the painting of the first Mr Parker. “An ancestor of yours?” he asked. 

“The first Thomas Parker,” his great-great-great-great-great-grand-son proudly said. “The great visionary to whom we owe everything.”

“Ah.” Doktor Fuchs looked from the portrait to his host and back. “I believe I detect a certain family resemblance.” – and Charlotte had no doubt that from this moment onwards, Doktor Fuchs was Mr Parker’s new best friend.

They continued their tour to the gym and wellness area and the now-empty ballroom – “A replica of the original Regency Assembly Rooms. We hold our traditions dear here in Sanditon.”

Charlotte looked up to the balcony and thought of the tongue lashing she had received there. Today, it seemed as if Sidney Parker was looking for a reconciliation, but thinking of the conversation on the balcony again, she wondered how long such a reconciliation would last.

“Charlotte?” Mr Parker asked. “No doubt dreaming about the next ball,” he added with a smile for his guest. “It’s the Midsummer Ball at the end of June. – Shall we continue with the tour of the grounds? Or would you like some tea first?”

“Tea,” Doktor Fuchs decided. They proceeded to the Conservatory to meet Mary, and, as Charlotte had not foreseen, Sidney as well. Mr Parker was delighted to see his brother joining them, and they sat down at a window table with a perfect view over the sea and the hills rolling down towards Sanditon. Within minutes, an ample supply of tea, sandwich corners, Strawberry Secrets, muffins, scones, jam and clotted cream arrived, and Doktor Fuchs declared to have found paradise right here on the Sussex coast. 

He then explained about his tour company: his clients were mainly very cultivated senior travellers with a deep interest in culture and history.

“No-one is going to mark a deck chair by the pool with their towel at five in the morning,” he added with a wink. “Sanditon will serve as our base to explore the history of this corner of England. We have an excursion to 1066 country, and to Canterbury and Sissinghurst, and, of course, the highlights, Petworth and Highclere Castle. My favourite though is the hike on the South Downs Way when we walk the beautiful stretch from Eastbourne to Alfriston.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mary said, and Charlotte could only agree. Surely those cultivated senior travellers would see more of this part of England than she ever had. Doktor Fuchs nodded.

“It is a very popular tour, and I endeavour to accompany every group myself.”

“Splendid!” Mr Parker cried. “So you’ll be staying with us for the whole summer.”

“I believe I will,” Doktor Fuchs said and, with a happy smile, took another bite out of his Strawberry Secret.

“Allow me to ask, Doktor Fuchs,” Sidney Parker said, “If these tours are so very popular, and if they start mid-June, why are you looking for accommodation only now, in mid-May? Isn’t that very late?”

“That’s a perfectly legitimate question, Mr Parker,” Doktor Fuchs agreed. “I have been cooperating with the Brighton Sands Hotel for five years. You may have heard that they suffered major damage after a boiler explosion and that they had to close down for business until further notice. They were very helpful and would have taken our groups to a partner hotel in Brighton at the same conditions, but… I have had my eyes on Sanditon for some time, and I believed this was the one opportunity I had to seize.”

“Excellent. Excellent!” Mr Parker raised his teacup. “Better than Brighton, as I always say. To opportunities seized!” Everyone joined in, even Sidney Parker, so Charlotte gathered that he was satisfied with the answer he had received.

Mr Parker and Doktor Fuchs agreed to a breakfast meeting in the next morning for a discussion of all those little details a group contract would contain. Then Mr Parker turned around to ask the waiter for a bottle of champagne to mark the occasion with something more substantial than tea. But the waiter, who had been explicitly told to remain on standby, was not in view. 

Later Charlotte thought that the poor man had recognised the danger and gone into hiding, for in barged Lady Denham, fuming like the dragon she was believed to be and looking more than ever like something that had been around since 1066.

“Mr Parker!”

“Lady Denham,” Mr Parker said, either too ignorant or too surprised to say anything else – and probably both. “What a pleasant surprise. May I present Doktor Fuchs? Doktor Fuchs has come to us from Wiesbaden to…”

“I know who this man is! I have been informed!” Charlotte wondered who that informant might have been. Sleazy Edward? Two-faced Clara?

Her Ladyship continued her fuming. “Did I not explicitly say no groups, and no foreigners trampling my gardens?” Slowly, it seemed to dawn on Mr Parker that the situation was serious.

“Lady Denham, Doktor Fuchs’s guests are very cultivated people, largely interested in our rich culture…”

“So you say. And what do you say once they’ve scared away the deer, invaded the sunken garden, plucked my roses and knocked on the drawing room’s window to see whether someone’s at home? Am I to suffer another German invasion?” – as if it were the Germans and not the Normans that had landed on the Sussex shores in 1066.

“But Lady Denham…” Mr Parker began.

“Enough of it! Wealthy golf players, that’s what I told you to look for. Not this… this…” She looked poor Doktor Fuchs up and down, searching for the most suitable insult. “… this _Ersatz-Kaiser_ with his troops of _Pickelhauben_! Are we to become another Fawlty Towers?”

“Lady Denham!” Mary Parker cried.

Doktor Fuchs, who had lost his colour, his speech and his merriness, was staring at the apparition.

“I’m very displeased – _very_ displeased indeed,” Lady Denham continued. “I’m actually in a mood to withdraw my investment.”

“That would be most unfortunate, Lady Denham.” Mr Parker looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. “And very unwise, given the fact that we are about to enter the most successful summer season Sanditon has ever seen.”

“How many summers have you promised me that, I wonder? Do come up with a reasonable scheme, Mr Parker, and I will reconsider. And remember: wealthy golf players, capable of reading English keep-out-signs.” She barged out again. The waiter reappeared from behind a flower stand. Mr Parker turned to his guest of honour and gave a nervous laugh.

“There you have it, Doktor Fuchs: an eccentric English aristocrat. Is that not a real treat for your guests?”

But Doktor Fuchs slowly and with a sad expression shook his head. “Thank you, Mr Parker. You and your family have been very kind to me. But I feel my customers will not be entirely welcome here in Sanditon. Maybe we are better accommodated in Brighton.” He rose from his seat. “Please, can I implore on you to arrange for a taxi for me?”

“But Doktor Fuchs…” Again, Mr Parker looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. It was an unhealthy lifestyle Charlotte could not support a single second longer. She jumped up from her chair.

“Doktor Fuchs, I fully agree with you. Lady Denham has treated you abominably, and I believe I speak for everyone here when I ask you to accept our sincere apologies for her horrible words.”

The doctor cast her a benevolent look. “My dear _Fräulein_ Charlotte, it is not you who has to apologise here.”

“But it is my wish to do so, Doktor Fuchs. I think the excursions you have planned for your customers are simply wonderful, and I would so like to help make them fall in love with Sanditon just as I did… and I believe as you did.” The Doktor flushed a little.

“You are right, my dear. I did fall for your hotel. Until this… this… Valkyrie appeared.”

“Yes. And I truly understand your doubts. I just believe… I believe if we respond to bullies by caving in… by retreating and giving up what we really want, we grant them a victory they don’t deserve. Don’t you think we should stand up to bigotry and blackmail?”

“You are making your point very eloquently, _Fräulein_ Charlotte.”

“So will you stay? Oh, you simply have to find out what it is like to wake up to the first rays of sunlight falling into your room, and to open the curtain and walk into a red and blue morning of sea and sky, and to be invigorated by that fresh, salty air before the day has even started. – You have to spend at least the night, Doktor Fuchs, before you make a decision.”

“Alright,” the Doktor said, taking his seat again. “One night. Then I will decide tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent.” Mr Parker exhaled. “Excellent! Charlotte has actually been taking the words out of my mouth – you will not regret to stay the night here, Doktor Fuchs.”

Charlotte sat down again as well. She was vaguely aware of Sidney Parker staring at her, and she wondered what he would accuse her of now. She did not really care, though: She had just saved Tom Parker’s most valuable summer deal, and Mr Sidney Parker was not going to spoil that victory for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is about "Substantial Conversations". It's a very happy chapter, by the way.


	12. Substantial Conversations

It all went well. Nursed by a glass of the oldest whiskey the hotel bar had on the menu, Doktor Fuchs fell asleep quickly, dreamt well and awoke to the squawk of a seagull – a natural wake-up call he found rather endearing, as he told Tom and Sidney when he met them on Friday morning.

Sidney had decided to join his brother for his business breakfast. Just a precaution, he told himself, just in case Lady Denham barged in again – and if she did, to make sure that Tom did not again forget to apologise for her behaviour. He also thought it might be useful for him to learn something about hotel deals and group contracting. 

Doktor Fuchs thoroughly enjoyed his English breakfast, and in between settling contract terms, he returned many times to the buffet to refill his plate. As to the terms, Sidney could not find any fault in them, apart from the fact that the Doktor managed to negotiate a rate that was a little lower than what Tom had anticipated. But that, Sidney said to himself, was probably the price they had to pay for Lady Denham’s presumptions. Had it not been for Charlotte Heywood, the cost would have been much, much higher.

With all copies signed, Tom took his new business partner to a tour of the grounds, and after that, it was already noon and time for Doktor Fuchs to say goodbye. His au-revoir was even more cordial than his welcome. He shook everyone’s hands twice – and Charlotte’s even once more –, gathered the lunch packet Arthur had prepared for him and climbed next to Tom into the passenger seat of the hotel van to be chauffeured down to Sanditon station. 

When the van had vanished beyond the bend, Sidney waited until Mary, Clara and Esther had returned to the hotel. Charlotte, her clipboard in her hand, was still outside, inspecting the hydrangea growth around the car park. He wondered what she was scribbling on that clipboard all the time. _Friday_. _Number of times Sidney Parker has been annoying: zero, so far._ She suddenly turned around, as if she had sensed that he had been watching her. Sidney cleared his throat and walked over to her. It was now or never.

“I must admit, Miss Heywood. You have given a good account of yourself these last few days. I had not expected you to be so… capable.” Did he really say that? He sounded like a misogynistic professor, even to his own ears. But she lowered her clipboard instead of taking notes on it and did not flinch away from his gaze. 

“Because I’m a young woman, or because you had dismissed me as inexperienced?” He twitched his mouth.

“A little of both, I think. And then you single-handedly saved Tom’s contract yesterday, and I don’t believe you have received the credit for it that you deserve. So on behalf of the Parker family: thank you, and please accept my apologies for dismissing you.”

“I accept your apologies,” she said with that smile that made the dimple in her chin a little more prominent. “Especially since I’m equally guilty of dismissing you.”

“Oh? As what?” he asked, bracing himself. If this was about reconciliation, he would have to endure some truths as well. She certainly was not going to spare him.

“Well, if I’m perfectly honest, I had come to the opinion that you possess absolutely no empathy,” she said.

“And what have I done to deserve such judgement?”

“Well, you always seem so reluctant to help your family with the hotel.”

“That is hardly fair. It was always clear that I would break with the family tradition, and yet, here I am, after spending hours feeding Strawberry Secrets to Doktor Fuchs.”

“But don’t you see how much they want to have you more involved?” Did they? Sidney was taken aback. He had had no idea. Her large eyes were scanning him. “Have you ever walked past your family gallery in the staircase?” she asked. “Have you ever seen that photograph of yours?”

“Of course I have.” He started to wonder where this was leading to. And whether that reconciliation thing had been such a good idea after all. There was a little colour in her cheeks now, and the light sea breeze played in her hair.

“There is a group picture of the family, but there is no photograph of Tom alone, or Arthur alone, or Diana alone. That’s your privilege only – and the picture is A3 size! They are so proud of you, and yet you behave as if someone’s forced you to eat a lemon when your brother asks for your support in an important business deal.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. I did it again. Go on, tell me that I am speaking out of turn and that you don’t care a fig for what I have to say.”

Sidney shook his head. “I invited your opinion. And actually – for once – I believe there may be some truth in what you say. The hotel is a family business, and I tend to forget that I am part of that family.”

Charlotte looked up again. There was doubt written in her eyes, but also mischief. “Coming from you, Mr Parker, I shall take that as the greatest compliment imaginable.”

He gave her a small smile, then stared at the hydrangea behind her for some seconds before starting to speak again. After all, he was only halfway through with what he wanted to say, and the more difficult part still lay ahead of him. 

“Miss Heywood,” he finally said. “Err… I… I have been meaning to say: our meeting down at the cove. I hope that you were not too embarrassed.” The little colour in her cheeks deepened, but there was also still that sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

“Why should _I_ be embarrassed?” she asked, keeping his gaze. “ _I_ was fully clothed.”

“Yes. Very good point.” Had he ever thought of her as prim and nerdy? She was anything but. “That was hardly fair of you. Ambushing me like that,” he added, lifting an eyebrow. Now her colour rose even more. Well, maybe a little prim after all. So little that it was actually rather cute.

“I can assure you, I did _not_ ambush you,” she said with emphasis.

“Nor I you.” He could barely hide his smile, keeping eye contact with her. She was the one to break away, tapping on her clipboard. 

“Well then,” she said.

“Well then,” Sidney replied, shaking his head as he watched her walk over to the hotel entrance, head held high. He had undoubtedly achieved something during this conversation. He just could not safely say what it was.

*

After a lunch break with James in the show apartment of Regency Row, Charlotte returned to a busy afternoon in the office. Mr Parker was out for a meeting with a potential client on the golf course, and Charlotte used the quiet hours to catch up on some of her work. She called the gardener – the hydrangea wall would look lovely once they were in full bloom. Still, the rest of the green space around the hotel needed tending -, checked some supply orders and more accounting, took some calls for Mr Parker, prepared a new Instagram post and drafted answers for guest reviews. There was another one complaining about the girl at the reception desk being more interested in her phone than her guests. She forwarded this one to Mr Parker with a note saying that they definitely had to have a serious conversation with the Beaufort girls.

Work was the perfect distraction from thinking about that strange conversation with Sidney Parker. Had he actually apologised to her? Both for the balcony scene and the cove? Was it conceivable that she had had him wrong?

There was still some work left on her table and some thinking undone in her head when a crying Henry scrambled into the office, tears all over his face, snot running from his nose. Whatever it was, it was the end of the world – at least when for a four-year-old.

“Henry? Darling little man, what’s the matter?” Charlotte dropped the invoice she had been checking and gathered him up to her lap, not caring about snot ruining her blouse. Being the eldest girl of several siblings, she knew how to distinguish sham tears from real ones. This was the real deal, utter despair holding the little boy in a firm grip. She searched for a tissue and wiped his face. In between sobs and hiccups, she understood “san’castle” and “shovel” and “Jenny’nalicia” and “Unglesinney”, and slowly it dawned on her that it was Friday and that she had promised Jenny and Alicia to go to the beach with them this afternoon, but girls only, no boys unless it was Uncle Sidney, who was no boy anyway.

Sure enough, that same Uncle Sidney appeared within moments in the doorframe, looking very casual in Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt, and said: “Miss Heywood. Apparently, we have been set up for a playdate on the beach.”

“I… oh dear, is it really so late already? Are the girls back from school?”

“They are, and ready to go. Everyone’s waiting for you. Oh, Henry, what’s the matter?” He lifted his nephew from Charlotte’s lap and kneeled down, nestling Henry on his thigh. “You didn’t think I’d go to the beach with those ghastly girls and leave you behind?” Henry’s sobs confirmed that that had been his fear precisely.

“But you’re my mate, Henry. There’s no fun to be had without you. Come on, let’s high five.” Henry did, his small hand smacking Sidney’s large one. “Tell you what, those ladies will have to put up with both of us, or with neither of us.”

“I think we’ll take both of you,” Charlotte said with a smile as Henry rubbed his snotty nose on Sidney’s t-shirt. Sidney looked up to her. 

“Will you?”

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “The beach is wide enough for several Parker-egos."

“You have five minutes to get yourself into beach gear, Miss Heywood,” he said. “The van is waiting in front of the hotel.”

It took Charlotte a little longer than five minutes to braid her hair, apply sun lotion, change into trainers, shorts and a t-shirt, and throw everything that might come in handy on the beach into a large shoulder bag. “You are late,” Jenny said from the backbench as Charlotte finally climbed into the passenger seat. “You’ll have to take care of Henry if he needs to pee.”

“Any more fine print I should be aware of before launching myself into this adventure?” she asked.

“We might bury you in the sand,” Alicia said. 

“Or feed you to the sea serpent,” Jenny added.

“I don’t need help when I have to pee,” Henry protested.

“You do!” Alicia and Jenny cried simultaneously, causing havoc on the backbench.

“We can still turn around,” Sidney said to Charlotte, navigating around a wayward golf cart on the road. “If you’re not feeling up to this.”

“I’m feeling perfectly up to this.” Charlotte smiled. “I have six younger siblings.” This caused the backbench to quieten down, at least for a second.

“Six!” Jenny cried after two seconds. 

“Yes. Plus two elder brothers. So, if any of you thinks I’m intimidated by a bunch of Parker babies, I have to disappoint you.”

“I’m not a baby,” Henry said.

“Neither am I,” Sidney added.

“I have noticed that much, Mr Parker.”

*

The weather was keeping warm and sunny and just perfect for an afternoon on the beach. Sidney parked the van in the tiny parking lot at the entrance of the promenade, making sure to observe all parking laws. Then he sent out Jenny to find the best spot on the beach for them and started to unload several bags, blankets, towels, shovels, plastic buckets and rackets from the car. 

“Are we going to camp out on the beach until October?” Charlotte asked as he dragged a monstrous picnic basket forward.

“I think Mary said a maximum of two hours,” he admitted with a grin. “Alicia – your cap! – Henry, will you take care of the engineering equipment? – Thank you,” he added as his nephew trod off with a family supply of shovels and buckets.

The best spot Jenny had found for them was close to the dunes, and they put up a windscreen, laid out their blankets, took off their shoes and checked out the contents of the picnic basket Arthur had lovingly assorted for them. Sidney smiled as the children happily grabbed the sticky chocolate mini muffins and Charlotte indulged in a Strawberry Secret. He offered her his as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want that for yourself?” she asked.

“Absolutely. Arthur is the sweet tooth in the family.”

“Lucky me,” Charlotte said and tucked in. He was curious to know what it was like to grow up in such a large family – with eight siblings, second servings of any dessert must have been a rare treat. But then it seemed such a personal question to ask, and they had only just found such a delicate truce. So he remained silent.

Jenny grabbed Charlotte’s hand. “You promised to build a sandcastle with us.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did. And you have to keep your promises, even if you are an adult.” Especially if you are an adult, Sidney thought as Alicia grabbed Charlotte’s other hand, and together with her sister, pulled her to her feet and dragged her to the shoreline. The three ladies quickly went to work. But before Sidney could meditate on the fact how pleasing it was to watch a beautiful young woman in beach shorts build a sandcastle, a sticky little hand tugged at his arm. “Shuttlecock, please, Uncle Sinney.” 

So they played shuttlecock. If one was perfectly honest, it was more a game of pick up, for the two players were so different in size and strength and experience. More than once Henry stumbled over his own racket, but he always landed softly on the sand, and his enthusiasm and happiness every time he managed to hit the shuttlecock made up for any deficiencies during the game. 

He’s just another Sanditon Parker boy, Sidney mused as Henry vanished into the dunes to pick up another misguided shuttlecock. Unable to give up and admit defeat once he had caught fire. Like the first Mr Parker, the projector, and his son Henry, the hotel builder, and like his own brother and little Henry’s father, and like many Parker-men in the generations between them.

Sidney did not count himself among them: he was an outlier, the sensible one. He was absolutely capable of catching fire for a cause, but he was also capable of admitting defeat if the facts allowed no other interpretation.

Henry returned, beaming and balancing the shuttlecock on the racket, but Alicia was quicker to claim Sidney’s attention. “Can you inspect our sandcastle, Uncle Sidney? You can be the Prince Regent, and you’re on tour to inspect all fortresses along the coast.”

“Am I allowed to bring my aide, Lieutenant Henry?”

“Only if he doesn’t trample the moat,” Alicia said.

“I don’t trample the moat!” Henry cried, stumbling over his racket.

The sandcastle turned out to be a truly massive constellation by the shoreline, ready to rival Dover castle with its towers, moats, walls and gateways. “What’s that?” Sidney asked, pointing to one half of a cockle attached to the highest tower. 

“That’s the castle’s commander,” Alicia explained. “Admiral Heywood.”

“Admiral Heywood,” Sidney repeated, seeking the gaze of the Admiral’s namesake. What a fitting title. The Admiral’s namesake blushed. “I think the commander needs a break,” Sidney said. “Time to have another look into that picnic basket. Arthur will be offended until the end of his life if it does not come back completely empty.”

“Now I can’t have that,” Charlotte said.

The children remained by the shoreline, paddling in the shallow water, fishing for shells and other treasures of the sea. Sidney opened the basket once more, and Charlotte helped herself to sandwich triangles and apple juice. He watched her settle on the blanket, the beauty spot on her shoulder becoming visible again as her shirt’s neckline shifted and the breeze tousled her hair.

With eight siblings and her father a Herefordshire farmer, an afternoon by the sea must have been another luxury she had never come by. What an idiot he had been to reproach her for her age and lack of experience. A better man would have complimented her on her zeal and ambition. It was worth a try. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

Charlotte looked up as if caught. For a moment, he expected her to answer that she did not wish to court another tongue-lashing, but then she broke into a smile and said: “I was thinking about how it’s only the big things that change in our world, but the basic emotions remain the same across the centuries. We can fly to the moon, and we can communicate with someone on the other side of the world using a shiny box the size of my hand, but our true instincts never change. Put a child with a shovel down by the seaside, and it will start to build a sandcastle, today just as two hundred years ago.”

Sidney smiled. “Have you seen the pictures at the Sanditon museum?”

“Not yet. I have been saving that for a rainy day. – Clear off, Esther!” she added, directed at a seagull that came dangerously close to her sandwich.

“During the times of my ancestor, the first Thomas Parker, there was an annual summer event, the Sanditon Regatta. One of its highlights was the sandcastle competition.”

“So Jenny and Alicia have it in their blood?”

“Seems like it,” Sidney said.

“Was that the event the Prince Regent was expected for every year?”

“Exactly. Though I don’t believe he was even aware of Sanditon’s existence. I believe the rumour about his possible attendance was only spread to draw the crowds.”

She was thinking about that. Then the expression on her face changed. Her eyes suddenly seemed to focus on something he could not see.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I need a pee,” Henry said next to him. 

When Sidney returned from his trip behind the dunes with Henry, he found Charlotte scribbling something in a notebook. She was not even looking up when he sat down next to her and gathered a tired Henry on his lap. “What is it?” he asked once more. She smiled at him.

“Something’s just occurred to me. An idea.”

*

Charlotte had not expected that her simple idea would spark such enthusiasm with Sidney Parker. Despite the children’s protestations, he pushed towards a speedy departure. Everyone and everything was quickly dispatched into the van and returned to the hotel. Sidney handed his nephew and nieces over to Phillida Beaufort, who was on reception duty, made sure that Charlotte was still following him, and then walked into his brother’s office.

Mr Parker was hunched behind his desk, looking decidedly unhappy. Maybe he had just read the guest review Charlotte had copied out for him, the one complaining about Esther never smiling and Julia checking her phone instead of arranging a bike hire for her guests. “Sidney,” he said, then: “Charlotte? What is it?” – as if expecting another disaster. Sidney stepped aside, leaving the scene to Charlotte.

“Your trainee has had an idea, Tom. I’m not an expert in marketing matters, but I think it’s a rather good one.”

“Is it?” Mr Parker was blinking from his brother to Charlotte, who felt her heartbeat rise. Down at the beach, it had seemed such a good idea. Here in the office, she was not so sure about it. Maybe Mr Parker would think her presumptuous- 

“Tell him just as you told me,” Sidney said. Charlotte cleared her throat. 

“Well, I… your brother told me about the Sanditon Regatta from two hundred years ago, and how it was meant to draw crowds to Sanditon. And I remembered what Lady Denham said yesterday about a reasonable scheme.” Mr Parker visibly flinched at the mentioning of his business partner. 

“You don’t intend to re-invent the Sanditon Regatta?” he said. “For we already did, last year, with the celebration of two hundred years of Sanditon. It rained all day, the tent was blown away, and Arthur had to be saved from the river after stumbling over an oar.”

Charlotte shook her head. 

“No. I don’t want that. But I was actually thinking about how to attract people. How to make the hotel accessible to everyone. How to make them fall in love with the place, just as I have, and make them become members of the golf club, and make them come for the view and a Strawberry Secret and…” She continued her explanation, and when she had finished, Mr Parker’s whole body had gone wiry again, as if his batteries had been recharged. He jumped up from behind his desk, walked out of the office, crossed the lobby with large strides and rushed into the Conservatory, where his dear wife was having tea with Gigi, Mrs Griffiths, three sunburned, sandy children and baby Jamie perched on her lap.

“Mary! I have had the most glorious idea! An open-day at the Sanditon Grand Hotel!”

“An open-day?” Mary echoed as the guests on the other tables looked up from their plates.

“Can you not just picture it?” In case she couldn’t, he drew the picture into the air. “A white castle afar from the world, gleaming in the sunshine as it sits perched high up on the clifftop, commanding singular views across the English Channel towards the distant shores of France … and now we will invite England to Sanditon. Can’t you see it? Families from all over the south enjoying a wonderful day out on our grounds?”

“Positively inspired, my dear,” Mary said, moving Jamie around as he had started throwing pea mush at Mrs Griffiths.

“It must be said that your trainee deserves some credit with the idea, Tom,” Sidney said. 

“Right,” Mr Parker said. “We must give credit where credit is due, Charlotte: It was you who has prompted me to have the idea of an open-day.” Sidney gave Charlotte an apologetic smile. She shrugged her shoulders: if that was all the accolade she was going to get, she was fine with it. As long as the day was a success. “You are fast becoming invaluable,” Mr Parker continued, his body all in wiry motion again. “In all those years since I have taken over from our father, I believe I’ve never had a management trainee as capable as you are. – Now. Mary! Children! We are off to the beach.”

“What? But they’ve only just returned from the beach!” Mary protested. 

“No matter what, it’s a beautiful day, and a beautiful day has to be celebrated. Gigi, Mrs Griffiths: you’re joining us as well, of course. Where’s Arthur? Sidney, go and call Arthur and Diana… I want a full family party.”

It took some time until little Jamie had been handed over to Phillida, and everyone else gathered in the lobby, wearing the proper footwear and ready for another excursion to the beach. Mr Parker led the party down the path to the rocky shoreline underneath the cliff, calling Charlotte by his side, spinning plans and ideas for the open-day. 

They were to have a sandcastle competition for the children (no, they were not, because this was about the hotel, not about Sanditon). They were to have a fishermen’s boat race (no, they were not, because there were not that many fishermen left in Sanditon, and those who were had no time for such frivolities as a boat race). They were to have a rowing competition (no, certainly not, because the river was on the other side of the town).

Charlotte looked around for assistance, but there was none in sight: The children ran ahead of them towards the water, Mary and Mrs Griffiths were deep in conversation, Diana and Gigi helped Arthur navigate the steeper sections of the path, and Sidney, leaving more and more space between himself and the rest of the group, was busy talking on his phone.

Charlotte got her own phone out, for this was well worth a picture and a message to her family and maybe also a post on Instagram: the sun, standing low over the horizon, casting an orange light on the water as the tide went out. There were the vast Sanditon mudflats, a mysterious system of sandbars and shallow creeks, nearly deserted now, apart from oystercatchers and seagulls searching for prey in the silt.

“Ah!” Mr Parker exclaimed, scaring the birds away. “Now that is Sanditon for you! Where nature meets beauty and forms paradise! – Oh. That is a rather good one.” He took out his phone and repeated the slogan to the voice recorder.

The children happily ran towards the first creek, and Diana took off her shoes, advising Arthur and Gigi to do the same, as the cold water and furrowed ground would work miracles on their blood circulations. Charlotte made a selfie, added it to the pictures she sent to her family group and wondered how to go back to life in a place far from the sea. But she would not have to find out before October, and now it was mid-May only… five more glorious months of Sanditon ahead of her.

Behind her, Sidney had finished his phone call and looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry. Seems to be disrespectful to think about business in these surroundings, but some clients never sleep.” Charlotte returned a non-committal smile. Her idea about his “business” was too vague to allow any judgement.

“I believe seabirds are a forgiving species,” she said. He smiled back.

“I hope so. Though the herring gulls can be very aggressive. The locals will tell you horror stories about how a giant herring gull snatched a sandwich from a tourist or a kitten from its mother.”

“I start to see why Esther dumped your friend Babington’s gift into the bin.” They had fallen into step together, crossing a sandbar and moving a little away from the rest of the group.

“Miss Heywood,” he suddenly said. “May I ask a favour of you?”

“Of _me_?”

“Extraordinary as it might sound, I believe you are better positioned than almost anyone else.” He stopped and looked across the mudflats towards the setting sun for a while before he continued. “That phone call was my sleepless Australian client. Seems as if I have to go to Sydney for a while.”

“What? Sidney’s going to Sydney?” The words were out of her mouth before she could think twice. “I’m sorry. That was a cheap pun.” 

“Though irresistible, I agree,” he said.

“Yes.” She gave him a shy side glance. Surely this was the moment to end the Miss-Heywood-Mr-Parker-nonsense and just call each other by their first names? But his intentions went into a different direction, as his next words confirmed.

“The favour I was going to ask you, Miss Heywood: Would you keep an eye on Gigi for me while I’m in Australia? See that she is kept out of mischief?” Charlotte did not answer immediately. 

“You do see the irony of that request, don’t you?” she finally said.

“I do,” he admitted. “But I hope we can rewrite that part of our history. Don’t you think? Admiral Heywood?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I think we can do that.” She was feeling very solemn all of a sudden, an emotion only heightened by the sun now settling dramatically on the horizon, immersing them in magical orange light. Something had started during this walk across the mudflats, something substantial – even though for the moment, Charlotte was unable to name it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Charlotte is going to receive "Mixed Messages".


	13. Mixed Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'd love to spend the next twenty chapters with more playdates on the beach. Unfortunately, that's not how life works. Or fiction. So we are slowly moving towards some rather dramatic events...
> 
> This part features a poem. I will explain its origins at the end of the chapter.

The date for the great Sanditon Grand Hotel Open Day was set for mid-June, the Sunday before the weekend of the Midsummer Ball. It was relatively short notice, but the event sparked everyone’s imagination and creativity so quickly that Charlotte had little doubt about its success.

First of all, she wiped Mr Parker’s unintelligible scribblings off the whiteboard behind his desk. This became her mind-map where she jotted down everyone’s ideas, classified them and spun them off. Sometimes it seemed to Charlotte as if every single member of staff at the hotel had only been waiting for such an occasion to show what they were capable of.

Clara’s assistant Kamila offered to arrange a scavenger hunt for children across the hotel. Manoel proposed a “Who-wants-to-be-a-millionaire” styled quiz, with the main price a free stay at the hotel (Charlotte changed this to one free night in the hope that the lucky winner would book and pay an extra night). The Conservatory team suggested setting up a show table for a seven-course-dinner, themed “swans”. Arthur picked up the swan theme, promising to produce a flock of miniature meringue swans for every single visitor. Charlotte remembered Mr Parker calling the hotel “the white swan of Sanditon” when they first met, and everyone agreed that this was the perfect motto for the day – and probably the new slogan for the hotel.

With all these things to coordinate, Charlotte decided that she needed an assistant, and she found that assistant in a reluctant, sulky and complaining Gigi. 

“You told me you like art, and that you want to open an art gallery one day,” Charlotte said.

“So are you going to put me in charge of the children’s drawing competition?” Gigi asked.

“That’s a great idea.” Charlotte added it to the whiteboard. “But first of all, I’d like you to think about a logo and a layout for all notices regarding the open day.”

“Isn’t that something the marketing department should do?”

“You are my marketing department. We are working cost-oriented.” They were, in fact, working on a rather tight budget. But Charlotte did not complain – it only made her search for even more creative solutions. As it turned out, Gigi was actually well-acquainted with several design programs, and despite her constant protests produced beautiful printed matters as well as several social media posts advertising the occasion.

In between organising a significant event at four weeks’ notice, taking care of the hotel’s administration, reminding Lydia Hillier of her social-media-concept, helping out in service and running the usual errands for Mr Parker, Charlotte always found time to check her phone. She started to think of herself as the third Beaufort sister in this regard, but other than the sisters, she had an absolutely valid reason to do so: She might miss a message from Sidney Parker. 

They had exchanged phone numbers after that walk on the beach, just in case, just if there was an emergency about Gigi. There was no emergency, and there was also no reason why he should message her in the middle of the Australian night, but yet, Charlotte felt the need to make sure several times during the day. She could, of course, also message him herself. 

_Hi. How’s Sydney?_

_Good morning Australia._

_Gigi is fine, helps me a lot with the open-day._

But she didn’t. Just imagine if his phone started vibrating during one of his business meetings, and he got angry at her again for interrupting a million-dollar-deal. So she did not message him, but simply stared at the empty contact _Mr Sidney Parker_ , until she remembered Babington asking for Esther’s number, just so that he _could_ call her, theoretically – and she quickly put her phone away.

One rainy afternoon, she took Gigi to the Sanditon Museum, to be followed by a treat in the Study Café. Charlotte enjoyed the museum, even though the most exciting section dedicated to the local tale of the giant sea serpent was closed for reconstruction. Yet there was still the replica of an original bathing machine as installed by the first Thomas Parker in 1816 to admire. Gigi, however, was less inspired by such souvenirs as the scorecard of a cricket game played in June 1819, a worn-out pair of blue dancing shoes or – and this one was really unusual – an ancient cigarette holder.

“That’s all dead and bones,” she said, stirring milk into her coffee when they were sitting down in the café. Fred was not on duty today, but his cousin had given Charlotte an equally warm welcome. “Why look back all the time and live in the past, like that Denham-dragon? Why not look into the future? That’ll be so much more important for us.”

“I believe sometimes it helps us understand the future if we look into the past,” Charlotte suggested.

“Does it? Yeah, when I look back at my father and Number Two, it does. I can be sure to meet Number Four in five years. But that’s about it.” Charlotte did not continue the subject. She still did not know why Gigi had been expelled, and why Sidney had taken her phone from her and cancelled her credit cards. It seemed such a cruel thing to do. And yet, the man she had met before his departure to Australia had not appeared like a brute out on revenge. So whatever Gigi had done – or been tempted to do: it must have been terrible, but Charlotte knew that she was not going to learn more about if she pressed her friend on it. One day, Gigi would tell her, all by herself.

On Friday night, she accepted James’ invitation to join him and Fred and their friends in the Crown. It was pub quiz night, and they managed to finish in second place. “You’re a clever one,” James said, giving her a hug and the box of chocolate that was their price.

“We’ll keep the chocolate as a treat for our lunch breaks, what do you think?” Charlotte suggested.

“I think you’re full of excellent ideas, Charlotte Heywood.” James was beaming. Then he insisted on driving her home to the hotel.

Back in her tiny attic apartment, she fell on her sofa-bed, looked out of the window into the clear night and thought about how well everything had turned out. She loved her job, she got on well with her colleagues and the Parker family, she had been trusted with planning a major event, she had found a useful occupation for Gigi, she was making friends with Mary, Arthur, James and Fred, and to some extent even with Esther, and she was no longer fighting with Sidney Parker. Not really messaging with him, either, as a quick glance at her phone confirmed. Must be Saturday morning already in Sydney.

She grabbed behind her as something was drilling into her back. It was one of the books she had taken from the library – not the one on marketing, that was down in the office, but the other one, the one with sayings for every day of the year, the one she had borrowed on Crowe’s recommendation that “Some of your followers will enjoy a profound thought now and then”. She switched on the light on the bedside table and filed through the pages, enjoying their whispering as she did so. The texts were an odd jumble of proverbs, everyday pearls of wisdom, philosophers’ aphorisms and poetry _._

 _It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us._ Charlotte smiled. That was certainly true for many people out there, especially for those hunting likes and followers for their egos on social media.

 _A man cannot step into the same river twice, for he is not the same man, and it is not the same river._ She liked that and marked the page for later reference. Maybe she could use it for a posting on Instagram. Then another one caught her eye, a poem:

_I long to explore a distant country_  
 _hike its mountains_ ,

_discover its coasts_   
_climb its rough cliffs_

_and find a hold on its high ledges_  
  
 _I want to feel the foreign wind_  
 _And the warm rain on my face_  
 _I want to sink my hands into its earth  
I want to touch its roots_  
 _taste its salt, and smell_  
 _the scent of its wide valleys_  
  
 _And I want to fight with that country_  
 _I want to compete with its will_  
 _probe its limits, and mine as well_  
 _until sleep finds me and I come to rest_  
 _on its autumnal_ _leaves_

Charlotte cleared her throat, then read the words again. _I want to feel the foreign winds … I want to sink my hand into its earth … I want to fight with that country … compete with its will, probe its limits …_ That’s what true passion must feel like, she thought, sensing her cheeks grow hot. Exploring each other, trusting each other, searching each other’s limits.

She slammed the book shut and threw it into the corner. It was just a cheesy poem in a book full of trivialities. Who would even buy such nonsense? When she looked up again, the old herring gull was outside in the dark in front of her window, a nightly shadow balancing on the gutter, yet unmistakably staring at her from knowing eyes.

On Sunday afternoon, Gigi surprised her friend in front of the hotel with two bicycles and another one of Arthur’s picnic baskets. “Now what is that about?” Charlotte asked.

“Little treat for you. You’ve been working so hard, you deserve an afternoon of indulgence.” Charlotte was ready to agree, especially since that morning, the temp agency had cancelled a waiter again, and she had had to help out in breakfast service.

“So where are we going?”

“Surprise,” Gigi said. “Just follow me.” 

They raced the road downhill towards Sanditon. Charlotte laughed as she took up speed and felt the wind hug her face (no foreign wind from a distant country of course, but the familiar Sanditon sea breeze), and Gigi showed a middle finger to Edward who was shuttling one of his clients about in a golf cart and shouted at them for ignoring traffic rules.

In town, they cycled down the promenade. Charlotte stopped to wave at James Stringer, who was playing beach soccer with some friends. James waved back and walked up to her. “Now it really is a Sunday,” he said, smiling at Charlotte. “What are you two up to?”

“That’s a secret,” Gigi said. James held up his hands. 

“Girls’ stuff. I will not interfere.” Charlotte looked at him and his friends. Fred was among them, waving at her as well.

“Have you scored yet?”

“Not where I want to. But it’s just a warm-up for our cricket practice anyway. Have you not heard about the match?”

“Of course I have. It’s another Sanditon tradition. Grand Hotel versus Sanditon town, to be held on the beach on the second Sunday of June.”

“Exactly. This year, we’re going to beat the hotel.” James grinned with a perfect line of white teeth.

“I thought you’d be playing _for_ the hotel,” Charlotte said, feeling irritated. “You’re working up there.”

“But that’s a time-limited contract. No, I’m a Sanditon boy born and bred.”

“I volunteered for the hotel team, but Mr Parker said it’s men only. Tradition and so, you know.”

“I don’t hold with traditions. I wouldn’t mind playing on the same team with you, Charlotte.”

Gigi checked her watch. “I think we’ll have to go, Charlotte.”

“Right. – Bye, James. See you tomorrow for lunch? Plus a box of chocolates?”

“See you tomorrow,” he said, showing a perfect line of white teeth again. 

“That fool’s in love with you,” Gigi said as they continued their way through the town.

“Nonsense,” Charlotte said. Or was he? He certainly had become a good friend, and he had a nice smile, and he never shouted at her or told her that he did not care about her opinion. Quite on the contrary, he had told her more than once that he respected, even valued her opinion. And they had no difficulties messaging each other. Which was not such a surprise, given that their messages mostly read _Lunch today at 1 ok?_ – _Will be outside show apartm – Will bring avocado salad._

James was precisely the kind of man her parents would wish for her. Fortunately, the ages of arranged marriages were long past. For if one was perfectly honest, James Stringer had a nice smile, and he was good-looking, and he was kind – but he was no distant country and just so much less exciting than…

“Hello? Anybody at home?” Gigi was waving a map in front of Charlotte’s face. 

“Yes. Of course. You were saying?”

“Across the traffic lights and then it’s down to the river.”

“Alright. Just let me quickly check my phone.” And there it was: Messages, _Mr Sidney Parker: 1_

“You’re blushing,” Gigi said. “You’re a dark horse, Charlotte Heywood. How many admirers do you have?”

“One, if you count Henry,” Charlotte said, nervously tapping on the screen to see what Mr Sidney Parker had to say to her. 

_Mr Sidney Parker: Wi$**,’’’’’_

Right. Was that some sort of code? Or was he drunk? It was half-past three in Sanditon, so it had to be past midnight in Sydney. And Sidney probably drunk in Sydney. No excuse for the pun. 

“Still interested in a picnic?” Gigi asked.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. That thing is gone now.” She shoved the phone back into her trouser pocket, climbed her bike and followed Gigi to the residential area that stretched out along the riverbank. Soon the houses gave way to an open, park-like landscape. It was very idyllic, with willows stretching their branches far into the water as if searching for some lost love down there. Charlotte had never been to this part of Sanditon before. Even though it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, they met only a few other cyclists or walkers. Everyone seemed to be drawn to the beach instead.

 _Wi$**,’’’’’_ , she thought again. Maybe not a code. Maybe some Australian abbreviation like lol or rofl. She would google it when she came back to the hotel. 

Right beyond the next river bend, Gigi slowed down. “I think here it is,” she said, consulting the map. Charlotte recognised one of the plans the reception girls handed out to guests asking for a cycling tour. 

“Here is what?” she asked.

“The pavilion. One of those Parker follies from two hundred years ago. They owned the land down by the river but in the 1860ies sold it to the Denhams to raise money for the hotel. – You dragged me to the museum,” she added when she saw Charlotte’s astonished face. “I tried to learn something while you were mooning over those blue shoes and that disgusting cigarette holder.”

“I’m impressed,” Charlotte admitted.

The pavilion, situated on a low rise in the landscape, was not more than a shelter against rain or sun, though a very luxurious one, with a cupola roof and several pillars on a circular platform. 

They chained their bikes to the metal rail that protected the riverbank from human invaders. Gigi heaved the picnic basket off the rack and started walking up towards the pavilion, taking larger strides with every step, as if someone was expecting her up there.

Suddenly, she dropped the basket and started running. Someone _was_ expecting her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem was written years ago by a German author called Martin Rauhaus for a romantic TV movie. That TV movie has long been forgotten since – and justly so - but the poem occasionally pops up on blogs and websites. 
> 
> A few weeks ago, I stumbled across it again. For some reason, it made me think of Sanditon… and here we are. As the original is in German, someone – I – had to translate it. Source: https://wizelife.de/schwarzes-brett/notiz/5b37fb1d297b50529e2f7ec3/persoenliches/manchmal-muss-man-einfach-schnulzen-lieben


	14. The Final Ten Percent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right.  
> Oh dear.  
> This chapter comes with a major character twist. Two, come to think of it.  
> And a WARNING: There is a strong sexual reference (but no action).  
> Anyway. I’ll just duck my head and go into hiding.

Charlotte picked up the picnic basket and tried not to stare at the two women holding each other in a tight embrace, oblivious to the world around them. To say that she felt embarrassed was an understatement. To say that she felt outsmarted by Gigi was another one. 

_Would you keep an eye on Gigi for me while I’m in Australia? See that she is kept out of mischief?_ she heard Sidney Parker say. Now here she was, right in the middle of apparent mischief, and all she could think of was _Wi$**,’’’’’_. She stepped closer and gave a distinct cough. “Hello?”

Gigi drew away from the other woman, a model-like beauty in her mid twenties. Gigi kept holding her hand. “This is Charlotte Heywood, my only friend and ally in this dreadful place. – And this is Otis.”

“Otis-?” Charlotte asked, holding out her hand.

“Only Otis. It’s a stage name.” The woman had a good handshake and a full and pleasant voice with an American accent. “I’m an artist.”

“I see.”

“Is she not the most beautiful human being you have ever seen?” Gigi asked, melting against her lover. 

“Forgive her,” Otis said with an indulgent smile. “Her opinion of me is completely biased. You better ignore everything she’s told you about me.”

“As a matter of fact, she hasn’t told me anything,” Charlotte said, feeling annoyed, prim, and tricked all at the same time. “Until a moment ago, I did not even know about your existence.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Gigi said. “I had such trouble arranging this, and I couldn’t take any risk.” She looked at Otis, then at Charlotte again. “The truth is that we are not allowed to see each other.” 

“But we are not in a Victorian novel! Who would put up such boundaries?”

“My horrible foster father, who else?”

“Sidney?” Charlotte repeated in disbelief.

“Do you know of another one?” Gigi grabbed Otis’s hand. “Come on. There is supposed to be a bluebell copse beyond the river bend. That’s just the perfect spot for our picnic.”

“Thank you for taking care of Gigi, Charlotte,” Otis said. “I’m taking over now.”

“What? No. I promised…” Gigi stopped in her tracks. 

“You promised what?” Charlotte felt the colour rise to her cheeks. 

“I promised Sidney to keep an eye on you while he’s in Australia. Keep you out of mischief.”

“So you’re his spy?” The disappointment in Gigi’s voice was evident. “Is he paying you well? For money is the only emotion Sidney Parker knows.”

“Nonsense, Gigi, I’m not taking money from anyone. He… I… look, everyone is wondering why you had to leave school, why you’re stuck here, watched by Mrs Griffiths, why he’s taken your phone and cancelled your credit cards. I believed you were in real danger – false friends, or drugs, or whatever. - I had no idea this was about… love?”

“What else would it be about?” Otis asked, stepping forward. “It’s always about love. Some people just can’t bear to see others happy.”

Charlotte ignored her. “Gigi, don’t you think it’s time to come out with the whole story?”

“There is no story.” Gigi clasped Otis hand, smiling at her adoringly. “We met. We fell in love. Sidney Parker went mad.”

Charlotte tried to digest and classify this information. Sidney Parker had a temper and easily went mad. No-one knew that better than herself. He was prejudiced and never held back when he believed to be in the right. Yet, the man she had met after Doktor Fuchs’s visit was entirely different. That man had been appreciative of her, even humble at times, and endearing with the kids. There had to be more to the story.

“Why exactly would he go mad?” she asked.

“Are you that blind and naïve?” Otis asked. “Gigi is seventeen; I’m twenty-seven. She’s a millionaire’s daughter, I’m… scrambling by as an artist. And worst of all: she’s a woman. I’m a woman.” There it was, the final ten per cent. It was what Sidney had stopped Gigi from saying at Lady Denham’s luncheon table.

“I can’t believe Sidney to be so… so petty. Old-fashioned. Narrow-minded,” Charlotte thought out loud.

“And yet he is,” Gigi said. “Are you really going to deprive me of the best afternoon since I’ve come to Sanditon, Charlotte?”

“Yes… no.” She felt utterly overwhelmed. “But I’m not going to leave you two alone together.” Otis rolled her eyes.

“You’ve read too many Victorian novels, Charlotte. I’m not going to kidnap her, you know.”

“Very well,” Charlotte said, holding her head high. “Then there is no reason for you to be afraid of me joining you.”

They walked over to the bluebell copse, Otis and Gigi hand in hand, Charlotte a few steps behind, carrying the picnic basket. Never had she felt so out of place. Never had a bluebell field looked so dreary, never had a Strawberry Secret tasted so dull. She had absolutely no idea of what to make of the situation. Undoubtedly, large chunks of the story were still missing. Why had Gigi been expelled? Why had Sidney taken her phone, cutting her off from any contact to the outside world? 

While Gigi and Otis fed each other grapes and biscuits and bites of sandwiches, sharing giggles and kisses in between, Charlotte sat a little aside, half turning her back on them, desperately typing into her phone.

_Mr Sidney Parker: Wi$**,’’’’’_

_Charlotte Heywood: I think I’ve messed up._

No.

_Charlotte Heywood: Sydney, we are having a problem._

No.

_Charlotte Heywood: Hello Mr Parker, can you please contact me asap? Thanks. CH_

Maybe. But it was still the middle of the night in Sydney. Chances were that he was fast asleep, or that she would wake him up and have to deal with the ill-tempered, grumbling brute she had met on the balcony. And then, what was she to do? Call the police? Throw Otis into the river? Fasten Gigi to the rack of her bike and pedal her home?

“Are you telling him?” Gigi was looking over to her.

“No, I’m not.” Charlotte tucked the phone away. “And even if I did, what could he do? He’s on the other side of the world.”

“Never underestimate the power of money,” Otis said. “He made sure I lost my job when he found out about us. And then he made sure I would not find another one by smearing my name.”

“Why would he do that?” With all his flaws, Sidney had never struck Charlotte as revengeful.

“Otis told you,” Gigi said. “He doesn’t bear to see other people happy and in love unless it’s his silly brother and that poor wife of his. I told you I’ve known him since I was ten, and in all those years, I’ve only ever seen him care about the money he makes and that stupid car he drives. You cannot trust a single word he says.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I know. I have proof.”

“Then tell me.” Charlotte sounded more grown-up than she was actually feeling like. Gigi took a deep breath.

“Two years ago, Daddy invited him to spend his summer holidays with us on the yacht in the Caribbean. And Number Two, who makes Number One and Number Three look like astrophysicists when it comes to intelligence, Number Two, that singular brain cell, fell for the great Sidney Parker the moment he stepped on board.”

There was so much disdain now in Gigi’s face that Charlotte felt the Strawberry Secret go sour in her stomach. “And if you think he acted like a gentleman, and that he chivalrously rejected her advances, you are wrong, Charlotte Heywood. They did it. Right there on the boat. On the beach. In the water. God knows where else.”

Charlotte was feeling sick now. “Did… did your father know?”

Gigi shook her head. “Ironically, Daddy is terribly short-sighted. In every sense of the word. Doesn’t see what is right under his nose. – But I knew. I caught them in the act.”

“And still…” Charlotte had to work this through. “Still, your father made Sidney your… your foster father?”

“As I said, he has no idea of what is going on right under his nose. And even if he had, he probably would not have minded that much. Number Two as on the way out even before that holiday. They never last longer than a couple of years.”

“And does he… does Sidney know that you know?”

Gigi grinned. “Well, he didn’t know when he accepted to be my foster father. But now he does. And if you’re still asking yourself why he has confiscated my phone and cancelled my credit cards, there you have your answer. He’s trying to gag me.”

“But…” Charlotte tried to bring these new facts in unison with what she had seen that afternoon after Doktor Fuchs’s visit. 

Sidney Parker, allowing little Henry to rub his snotty nose on his t-shirt. Sidney Parker, offering her his Strawberry Secret. Sidney Parker, making sure she got credit for the idea of the open-day. Sidney Parker, calling her Admiral Heywood.

Sidney Parker… she wished there was a more elegant expression for it, but there certainly was not: _shagging_ his mentor’s wife under his mentor’s nose on his mentor’s boat with his mentor’s teenage daughter on board.

The man was even more disgusting than Edward Denham.

*

Normally, a fully reclining business class seat, a set of headphones plus a good supply of Chivas Regal did the trick for Sidney on long-haul flights. 

Not this time.

His worries kept him awake: Gigi’s father, still somewhere out on the Pacific, unaware of his daughter’s antics. Gigi, her wild threats and misguided passions. Tom and his never-ending financial troubles. Gussie Griffiths, who in their video-calls claimed that Gigi was doing well, but even from around the other side of the world looked strained. Arthur, who according to Mary, had missed yet another appointment for having his blood sample taken. Babington, who had never worked out the principle of time-zones and called him at three o’clock in the night to tell him with a slurring voice that Esther Denham was a haughty bitch and the most fascinating woman he had ever met. mrscampion, who had put a comment on the post announcing the Sanditon Grand Hotel’s open-day: _Hope I’ll be welcome_ – to which someone, probably Charlotte Heywood, had answered in all innocence: _Of course! And you’ll get a meringue swan for free – plus lots of fun_ _😊_

Well, Charlotte Heywood. That was a different chapter. Nothing to worry about there, though.

After the family beach walk, Mary had sent him a picture, with a short “Thought you might like this”. Whenever he looked at it, he realised that he did like it indeed: It showed them walking across the mudflats, deep in conversation with each other, unaware of the photographer and glowing in the strange orange light of that evening.

Looking at Charlotte and himself in that picture had a singularly calming effect on him, especially when he had to spend another ten hours long working day with figuring out how his client’s future ex-wife would get as little as possible of their joint fortune (which was a decidedly unromantic task). Looking at that picture made him scroll down his contact list down to D for Dimple. Then he would start typing messages:

_Good morning England._

_Hi. How are Gigi and my Admiral Heywood?_ (no)

 _Hi. How are Gigi and Admiral Heywood?_ (still not good)

_Hope Tom and the open-day don’t keep you too busy._

But he never sent them. It was early evening in England. What would she be thinking of him? That he was sleepless in Sydney?

Instead, he thought that he should really change Dimple to Charlotte Heywood before he returned home because if Crowe ever found out about it, there would be no end to his teasing.

And now he was returning home, two days earlier than expected and hopefully a pleasant surprise for his family and everyone else. Though terribly overtired and jetlagged. While queuing for immigration at Heathrow, it came to his mind to warn his brother, just to make sure that he had a bed ready for him at the hotel. And yes, he would happily return to the attic room. Then he scrolled up to D like Dimple and started typing: _Will be down in Sanditon in about two hours, hope all’s well with Gigi_ , but he had only managed the first two letters when an official voice barked “Next!”, and he stumbled over his laptop case, his feet and his tiredness and dropped the phone on the ground. 

Sidney cursed, which was no good considering he was standing in front of a British immigration officer. It made the immigration officer check his passport twice and send him straight over to his colleagues from customs. 

Once released, he bought a ridiculously priced coffee from a stall in the arrival lounge and checked the spider app on his phone (nasty case of spider app, with the centre directly on the message button). Maybe he should just grab a taxi and fall asleep in his London bed, but… Sanditon. Sanditon. Tom. Mary. The kids. Arthur and Diana. Gigi. 

Charlotte Heywood believed that they needed him, and he was not going to disappoint them again. Or Charlotte Heywood. He wanted to prove to her that he was a better man than she thought. So he walked over to the next rental car company, hired a nice flashy Porsche (nothing compared to the Aston Martin, but better than a Vauxhall), and wound his way through the airport traffic until he was finally on the way south, towards the coast.

It was a fine, sunny early summer afternoon, not too hot yet, just agreeable enough to open the Porsche’s roof and let the sea breeze ruffle his hair. Sidney breathed saltwater and wet seaweed: the smells of home. When he passed the sign saying “Welcome to Sanditon, home to sea-bathing”, he for once did not feel frustration, but positive tension. 

Things were going to remain challenging, with the hotel, with Tom, with Gigi, but he was no longer alone in his fight for their well-being. There was a fierce little Admiral by his side now. Miss Heywood. _Charlotte._ There was no reason to continue that formal Miss-Heywood-Mr-Parker-nonsense any longer. In fact, he was quite looking forward to calling her by her first name… He had to brake sharply in front to the station building, causing the driver behind him to sound the horn – and sound the horn once more when he parked the Porsche on the station’s disabled parking space.

Sidney did not care. A whole army of Constables Hankins chasing him would not have made him care. He only cared about the beautiful woman he saw standing in front of the Victorian station building. What was _Otis_ doing here? 

As he came closer and she caught his eye, he stopped dead in his tracks. There were two other women, waiting in the shadow of the bike shed, not seeing him.

“Yes, the great Sidney Parker,” he heard Charlotte Heywood say. “The financial genius with tons of oh-so-important friends. One does wonder though: What _is_ he trying to compensate with that silly old car?”

*

“Stop it, Charlotte,” Otis quietly said, moving her head meaningfully.

“No, do go on, Miss Heywood,” a deep voice behind Charlotte asked. “I’m intrigued to know what you believe I _am_ compensating for with that silly old car.”

There was no black hole opening up on Sanditon’s station square, ready to swallow her. There was no giant sea serpent reaching out to her, grabbing her and pulling her down into the waves of the English Channel. She did not die on the spot either, though her heartbeat was quickening dangerously.

Charlotte just stood where she was. After what seemed half an eternity, she turned in slow motion. 

Sidney Parker was right behind her, unshaven, uncombed, with heavy rings under his bloodshot eyes, wearing a wrinkled shirt that must have seen happier days as well. But he was not staring at her. He was staring at Otis.

“Miss Molyneux,” Charlotte heard him say with a voice that came right out of the deep freezer. “You are the very last person I hoped to find in Sanditon.” 

Otis was not going to be intimidated. With a shrug of her shoulder, she said: “Sorry, Sid. Next time I visit, I’ll let you know.”

“There will be no next time. Get on the train and never come back.”

“Sidney!” Gigi cried, hanging from his arm. Sidney shook her off as if she was an annoying insect.

“Get on the train, Miss Molyneux. Now. Or be sure I’ll call the police.”

Otis’s mouth was twitching. “That’s all you can do, right? Bully and threaten.”

“You know I’ve got the law on my side. If I ever find you alone with Gigi again, I shall not be responsible for my actions. Have I made myself clear?”

Charlotte expected Otis and Gigi to protest, to call him out, to condemn his monstrosity, but to her surprise, the only thing they did was exchange a meaningful look. Then Otis caved in, blew Gigi a kiss and walked into the station building.

“You could at least allow them a proper parting!” Charlotte cried, watching her friend’s lover disappear. Sidney spun around.

“Thank you, Miss Heywood. That’s none of your business. – Gigi, my car’s the Porsche over there. Get in and wait for me, and if you don’t, be sure that you’ll have half of the British police on your heels within ten minutes.” Gigi stalked away, head and shoulders held high. Charlotte could guess that she was desperately fighting the tears but that she also knew, as any good warrior, when it was wise to concede a momentary defeat. Then she felt Sidney’s gaze upon her.

“Did we not agree you would look out for her?” he said, looking down on her, his dark eyes full of contempt. Oh, how it hurt. “I should have known you were not to be trusted.”

“And I should have known that despite all your kind words, you don’t care at all about her happiness.”

“Don’t judge a situation you do not understand, Miss Heywood.”

“I understand perfectly well, Mr Parker!”

“Yes,” Sidney said, seemingly growing even taller. Or was she shrinking under his angry gaze? “Of course you do. After knowing Gigi what… three weeks? And that woman a couple of hours.”

“That was enough time to understand that she’s a fine person who cares very much for Gigi.” Though, if one was perfectly honest, it was not enough time to understand that Otis also went by the name of Miss Molyneux.

Sidney shook his head. “You seem to find it impossible to distinguish between the truth and your own opinion, Miss Heywood.”

That undid her. 

“The truth?” she cried. “ _You_ wish to speak of the truth, Mr Parker? The truth is that you are so full of yourself that you can’t accept to see two people stand up to you because they won’t share your concept of a superficial lifestyle revolving around flashy cars and fast money.”

“You speak out of turn.” Something was changing in his face, but Charlotte did not care. She had held back long enough. All her anger about _new babysitter_ and _I don’t think of you at all_ , all her frustration about the silence of the last days, all her disappointment about Gigi’s revelations on Sidney’s love life came out with her next words.

“Why should I expect anything better from a man so depraved that he doesn’t keep his hands off his friend’s wife?”

“That is enough!”

She had gone too far. Charlotte knew it the moment the words were out of her mouth.

He was breathing heavily, his face a mask of fury, and for a second, she thought he would strike her down. Then he shook his head in disdain. “I have no need to justify myself to the likes of you, Miss Heywood,” he simply said and walked away to his car. 

Charlotte remained where she was, petrified and expecting her head to explode. The tears did not come. The Porsche left the parking space with a wild roar. People started staring at her. 

Where had all this gone wrong?

This morning, cuddled up in her bed and watched by the old herring gull, she had re-read the poem and thought about the distant country she longed to explore. One picnic and a few hours later, that country lay desolated and in ruins, and she had a distinct feeling that she would never travel there.


	15. Two Distant Countries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, dear readers. Yes, I know, the previous chapter was a tough one, and I appreciate the fact that you are here again. Thank you for your comments - I'll try to answer them over the weekend. As to all the speculations about Otis, Gigi, the age gap, Sidney and what happened on the yacht, please let me quote Mr Crowe: "I'm in complete control" - and I'm slightly more reliable than Mr Crowe.

They did not fire her. That was Charlotte’s worst fear when she sneaked back into the hotel through the staff door in the basement, mentally and physically exhausted from the events of the day and from cycling all the way up to the Hotel against the wind. 

Apparently, Sidney Parker had not spoken to his brother, demanding her immediate demise on the grounds of gross insult combined with general irresponsibility.

When Charlotte came into the office the next morning, Tom Parker welcomed her with his usual enthusiasm, and some regret about the fact that she had missed his brother, who had come back from Australia the previous evening but returned to London very early this morning. “But he’ll join us for the cricket match,” Mr Parker said. “I can always rely on him when it comes to defending the honour of the family. He’s an excellent bowler.”

“Is he,” Charlotte said and concentrated on checking the weekend’s credit card bills. Figures were so much easier to handle than her boss’s confounding brother. And was there anything Sidney Bloody Parker could not do? Financial genius, racy driver, expert handler of little children, excellent bowler… Gigi. He was definitely bad at dealing with Gigi.

“I’m sorry for the way he went at you,” her friend said when they met for a workout at the gym that evening.

“I certainly provoked it,” Charlotte replied. “Yet… Gigi, I wish you would have told me about Otis. How did you two meet?”

“That was at… well, she’s an artist. Always looking for volunteer models. So I volunteered.”

“Your father didn’t approve?”

“He doesn’t even know about her. Far too busy with taking Number Three on his sailing-around-the-world-trip. But once daddy Sidney took over, he found out very quickly. You’ve seen him – he disapproves.”

“But why?” Charlotte asked. “What is it he holds against Otis?” There had to be more to it than the obvious age-gap and the fact that she was a woman.

“She’s an artist. Unreliable, he believes. Only interested in the cash she can draw from my credit cards.”

“And did she? Draw cash from your credit cards?” Gigi gave her a defiant look.

“Whose side are you on, Charlotte?”

“I’m on your side, Gigi. But I can only help you if I know what’s going on.”

“We went to London for a weekend once. Stayed in a cosy little hotel in Chelsea and had fun with my Amex from Friday night to Sunday afternoon. I mean, that’s why Daddy gave me the card, right? Because he wanted me to have fun.” As if true fun – and parental love, for that matter – could be bought by a credit card, Charlotte thought. Poor Gigi. But she was not finished: “I had to forge Sidney’s signature to get me out of that boarding school prison in the first place.” 

Hard as it was to admit, Charlotte did see why Mr Sidney Parker was not entirely happy with the situation. However, thinking of her siblings and of herself as teenagers, she also knew that at Gigi’s age, whatever was forbidden appeared only more desirable. So maybe a better tactic than confiscating phones, cancelling credit cards and staging performances as super-concerned surrogate daddy was to let Gigi have a controlled dosage of Otis – just until she tired of her.

“I won’t forge signatures for you,” Charlotte said, trying to put as much disapproval as possible into her words. That Gigi liked to bend the rules into the direction most suitable for her was no news. “But if there is anything I can do for you that will not lead to prosecution and a visit from Constable Hankins, I’ll do it.”

Gigi grinned and held out her hand. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Apart from daily discussions with Gigi about Mr Sidney Parker’s shortcomings, the following days went by very smoothly and undramatically.

With the administration in good shape now, Charlotte had time to concentrate on the open-day and everything connected to it. Mr Parker gave her free reign over the event. He was very busy these days with bank appointments at short notice and impromptu meetings with Lady Denham. Whenever he was at his desk in the office, he jumped up after two minutes to scribble down a new idea on his whiteboard, only to realise that his whiteboard had become Charlotte’s public checklist for the open-day.

One afternoon, he would walk into the office, beaming from one ear to another, and show Charlotte a beautiful necklace he had bought for Mary, his dearest wife. Yet the next morning, she would find him full of gloom behind his desk, complaining about the ungodly amount of money the fire protection company demanded for connecting Regency Row to the hotel’s alarm system.

Charlotte found it difficult to make him out, yet, on the other hand, there were so many other things to keep her occupied. Arthur wanted her to sample his meringue swans. The F&B manager needed to discuss a detail for the open-day, the Instagram account was running over with comments, Doktor Fuchs had some requests for his first group that was due to arrive in mid-June. Clara and Edward were busy with each other in the golf cart shed when Charlotte walked past. Phillida asked for her help with a difficult guest, Lydia Hillier had to be followed up about the social media concept. Jenny and Alicia stalked her for another playdate on the beach with Uncle Sidney – “Because he’s coming next weekend for the cricket match. He’s our best bowler, Charlotte.”

“Is he?” Charlotte said, calculating the odds that the man broke his right arm before the weekend, then conceding that even with only his left arm, he would probably still be “our best bowler”. 

The best place to take her mind off Mr Sidney Parker was during her lunch breaks with James. James had so many worries that her own concerns seemed petty and unimportant. His father was still in hospital, fighting cancer. He himself had been offered an internship by an architect in Vancouver, and he longed to accept, but could not bring himself to do so with his father’s situation being as it was.

And then there was the every-day trouble on the building site: workmen that showed up late and left early, doing little to nothing in between, an electrician who postponed his visit from one day to the next and then again, a painter who seemed to exist only in the form of a mailbox, and a tiler who definitely would have shown up on Thursday had his daughter’s guinea-pig not chosen to end its guinea-pig life on Wednesday night. 

The only regular face on the site was Fred. That, Charlotte assumed, was due to his friendship with James rather than because of his trust in his business relationship with Mr Parker. Whenever they met, Fred asked Charlotte if she had reminded Mr Parker of that outstanding invoice from April. She had, and wondered why it was still outstanding, and one day she took up her courage and asked Mr Parker as diplomatically as possible about the financial situation of the Regency Row project. 

“That’s a rather unusual question, my dear,” Mr Parker said. 

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to appear… nosy. I’m just trying to understand these things, Mr Parker.”

“And so you will, my dear, with time and experience. When you realise a project such as Regency Row, what is most important is not the money but your attitude. Never allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the task. Always think of your vision, of the final result, never of all the throwbacks you might encounter. – Do you know what did _not_ happen when the first bathing machines were installed, and Sanditon opened as a seaside resort in the spring of 1816?” Charlotte shook her head. Mr Parker grinned. 

“The summer of 1816.” 

“Oh?” Maybe on that afternoon in the Sanditon museum, she should have spent more time reading the educational panels than mooning over blue shoes and an ancient cigarette holder. Mr Parker sighed deeply.

“Whatever are they teaching you young people in school these days? Have you never heard of it? It was the year without a summer, after the breakout of a volcano somewhere in North America. Or was it South East Asia? I’m not sure. Anyway, that volcano ash shook up the world climate. It was a summer of extremely low temperatures and heavy rainfall, ultimately leading to failed crops and hunger. – And here in Sanditon, my ancestor Thomas Parker was sitting on a rainy beach with his brand-new bathing machines, and no one came to use them. Did he despair? No, my dear. He looked to the future, never to the past. He planned and rearranged his plans, and a few years later, Sanditon was well up and thriving. – And that, my dear Charlotte, is the way it has always been at Sanditon, and the way it is right now, and the way it will be for my children, once they take over.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, and even though she was not any the wiser about Fred Robinson’s bill and the financial situation of Regency Row, she did feel that she had learnt something in this conversation.

Sometimes – only very occasionally – when Gigi returned the phone she borrowed every night, Charlotte would file through her messages until she randomly – absolutely randomly – stumbled over the one saying _Wi$**,’’’’’_

Staring at it, she thought that maybe Mr Sidney Parker had been stressed out, overtired, jetlagged, raw, emotionally confounded and genuinely disappointed in her when he had shouted her down in the station square and that he must be forgiven. But before forgiveness could take over, she closed her messages, opened Instagram and answered comments on Arthur’s meringue swans. 

_mrscampion: That looks delicious._

mrscampion regularly left likes and comments on the hotel’s posts. Charlotte had checked her profile: apparently, she was something of a minor reality TV celebrity, the kind of personality one only knew if one was into reality TV – and Charlotte was not. However, mrscampion’s posts promoting ugly handbags, hair extensions and false eyelashes were drawing a crowd of more than half a million followers, and that was a force not to be ignored.

_mrscampion: That looks delicious._

_thesanditongrandhotel: … and they taste even better. Try one @ #thesanditongrandhotel on June 18 th #sanditon #sanditongrandhotelopenday #arthuristhebest_

*

Sidney would have skipped the Sanditon cricket match entirely (and for the first time in his life) had it not been for Gigi. It could not be helped – he could not hide away behind his monitors and the stock market any longer. He had a responsibility towards his foster daughter. That responsibility could not be fulfilled by calls in the morning, the afternoon and the evening, by forcing Gussie Griffiths to stay on Gigi’s wayward heels, and by issuing daily threats at Miss Molyneux to keep away from his foster-daughter. 

“Oh,” Crowe said when he heard about Sidney’s weekend plans during their weekly lunch. “Sounds as if we’ll be enjoying another unforgettable stay in the vibrant metropolis of Sanditon.”

“You don’t have to come,” Sidney quickly said, thinking of what their last visit had done to his brother’s stock of Veuve Clicquot. Indeed, he had not meant to invite his friends, just to inform them. “If you do, Tom will recruit you for our cricket team.”

“What do you say, Babbers? Some sports activity to get in shape for Miss Denham?”

“Can’t wait for it,” Babington said with a happy grin.

So on Saturday morning, Sidney was back to Sanditon, and back to the Conservatory, having breakfast with his brother. Babington and Crowe were still asleep after a late arrival with a detour to the Brighton Casino. Gigi did not consider herself to be on speaking terms with him, and the ubiquitous trainee that so often helped out in breakfast service for once was not around. He had his brother all to himself.

“So how are things going in Regency Row?” Sidney asked when Tom was served his full English breakfast.

“Splendid. Excellent. Couldn’t be better. The workmen are a little slow, but that’s what they always are, aren’t they? – I suppose you did not … could not … convince any of your contacts to buy in?”

Sidney shook his head. “I’m not your estate agent, Tom.”

“Well.” Tom took a gloomy look at his eggs and the grilled tomato. “At least I have your prowess at the cricket field to be grateful for.”

“In truth, you have Gigi to thank for that. I’m only here because of my duties towards her.”

“What a good foster-father you are, Sidney.” – and as Tom had no idea about Gigi’s antics, it was highly likely that he absolutely meant what he was saying. Absent-mindedly stirring his baked beans, Tom asked: “I don’t suppose … you could … her father is a wealthy man …”

“Tom, stop.” Sidney felt the anger surging up inside of him. “Gigi Lambe’s father is my mentor and friend. I owe him more than any other person in the world, and I’m certainly not going to thank him for that by dragging him into your schemes. Which I could not do anyway, given the fact that he is still sailing the remote part of the Pacific Ocean.” Seeing his brother’s disappointment, he touched his arm. “Come on, Tom. Can we not just for once forget the hotel and enjoy some family time?”

“I would, but – “ Tom’s face suddenly lightened up, and he started waving at someone behind Sidney. “Charlotte! Come and join us. - I can’t even tell you what I would do without her, Sidney! – Charlotte, take a seat, have breakfast with us.”

“Good morning, Mr Parker,” she said to Tom. She was clasping a clipboard, as always. Holding it so tightly that her knuckles appeared white. Holding it as if it was the only thing that kept her upright as she studiously ignored both Sidney and the invitation to sit down. Tom’s phone started ringing. He answered it, shrugging apologetically, and walked a few steps away.

“Miss Heywood,” Sidney said as the silence between them stretched on. “Busy again?” She did not meet his eye but stared down at Tom’s grilled tomato. Unfortunately, that bloody dimple in her chin was still as prominent as always.

“If you must know,” she said, “I’m trying to figure out how to accommodate Doktor Fuchs’s group in the Conservatory during the open-day, but… I assume you’re not interested in the details of event management.”

“You’re never short of assumptions, Miss Heywood.”

“Neither of experiences, Mr Parker. Good day.” She walked away without turning around.

Sidney took out his phone, tapped on the screen (no more spider app) and opened his contacts. Time to remove “Dimple” from the list. It was only when he pressed “delete” that he noticed that the contact was not as empty as he had believed. There was one sent message. Horrified, he opened it. What if he had told her in some jetlag induced madness from his lonesome Australian hotel room that she just had the cutest dimple? Even though altogether, he, of course, preferred blond, petite women. Like Eliza. Like -

But that was not what he had told her. What he had told her was even more cryptic: _Wi$**,’’’’’_

“Oh;” he heard Tom say. “Is Charlotte gone again? I would have so much liked to hear her opinion on the breakfast’s new oat milk option. – Where are you off to, Sidney? You haven’t finished your bacon.”

“I have an appointment with a punching ball,” Sidney said through clenched teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, Tom is not talking nonsense: the year without a summer did happen in 1816. I find it quite fascinating to think about how our ancestors must have dealt with a catastrophe that was not immediately explained to them online or in the news channel. But that is a different story that might be told by someone else. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Year_Without_a_Summer  
> ***  
> Please be advised that the Annual Sanditon Beach Cricket Match is scheduled for next Sunday, sometime during the day (or the night, depending on the timezone you're in).


	16. Cracking Cricket: Showdown on the Pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Annual Sanditon Beach Cricket Match!
> 
> I would like to mention though that I have ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE AT ALL ABOUT CRICKET, and that studying what Wikipedia has to say on the matter only left me completely befuddled. In the end, I had to resort to Kate Riordan’s novel for some details.
> 
> So here we go. My apologies for any mishandlings of the game.

Four ingredients, Arthur told Charlotte, were mandatory for a perfect Sanditon Beach Cricket Match: pleasant weather (dry, but not too sunny, no strong wind), a low ebb tide for the playing field, a well-equipped cake stand, and twenty-two men, dedicated to fighting for the honour of the hotel or the town respectively.

At five to two on Sunday afternoon, one half of the final ingredient was still missing: the town’s team. Charlotte, who was in charge of guarding the sandwich trays, saw Mr Parker striding about the beach like a lion king worried about his territory: looking into the players’ tent, the refreshment stands, and even the mobile toilets, as if there was any chance of the town’s team hiding in them.

“Is it off, then?” she heard Edward Denham ask with a yawn.

“Of course not!” Mr Parker replied emphatically, maybe too emphatically: “No, of course not.”

“They are late,” Mr Sidney Parker said, twitching his mouth in a strange way that made Charlotte wonder why the man could not even twitch his mouth normally, just as other people did.

“They are probably still discussing their tactics,” his brother said, but his face was looking flushed now. “Though they stand no chance against us, right?”, he added, just as Crowe and Babington, arm in arm, stumbled towards him. 

“Reporting for duty,” Crowe said, saluting like a soldier. “Willing and able. Where do you want me?”

Mr Parker paled. “Are you drunk?”

“Notatall, Cap'n Parker. Jus’ took a few swallows from the Veuve for breakfast.”

“Swallows from the Veuve!” Babington cried, bowling over with laughter. He had to be given licence for his behaviour for he was heartbroken: Esther had volunteered to staff the reception desk in the afternoon so that both Beaufort girls could watch the match live. This noble act of self-sacrifice did prevent a major rift in the Beaufort family. However, it also left Babington two miles away from the lady he had hoped to impress with his new tight-fitting cricket clothes. He needed all the consolation he could get, be it from the Veuve or from a friend.

“Charlotte, my dear.” Mary Parker’s voice woke her from her musings about Babington’s state of mind.

“Yes?”

“Is that your phone that’s buzzing?”

“Is it? Oh, yes … yes of course, it is.” She had nearly forgotten about the phone and the message she was expecting. She quickly checked the screen. “I’m sorry. Would you excuse me for a moment?” Hurrying past the tent where Lady Denham was complaining about the heat, the sand, the sunlight, the chair she was sitting on and the temperature of the tea Clara was serving her, Charlotte came to the spot Mrs Griffiths had chosen for herself and Gigi. The Beaufort girls had joined them, both giggling and taking selfies with each other, the players and the Strawberry Secrets Mrs Griffiths freed from the picnic basket. 

Gigi had been a picture of good behaviour these past days, but now, when she saw Charlotte coming, she jumped up, ran towards her and grabbed her hands. “Has she…”

“Sht. – Good afternoon, Mrs Griffiths. Julia – Phillida. Such a beautiful day, is it not?”

“It is,” Mrs Griffiths said without inviting Charlotte to sit down with them. Clearly, Mr Sidney Parker had warned his jailer about her.

“I just came to tell Gigi that … the book I have ordered for her has been dispatched. The confirmation just came in. – It’s an express order. So it will be on time, Gigi.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Gigi gasped.

“How fascinating,” Mrs Griffiths said. “And how kind of you to keep Gigi so thoroughly informed.”

“Mrs Griffiths!” It was Constable Hankins. For one panicky second, Charlotte believed that they had been found out and that the constable was going to publicly disclose that the book she had ordered for Gigi was, in fact, Otis, sitting in a train from London right now. Then she realised that he was not wearing his police uniform, but black trousers, a white jacket and a flat, wide-brimmed hat which he lifted now as he greeted the ladies. 

“My dear Gussie. You look very well today.” The Beaufort girls exploded in a fit of laughter. Gigi rolled her eyes.

“So do you, Constable. Would you … would you care to join us?” Mrs Griffiths said.

“How could I resist? But, alas, I have to. I have been charged with the most noble task of this afternoon: to ensure that the match is played in a fair and sporting manner.” The constable looked around himself with evident pride. “I am to be the umpire,” he added.

“How impressive, my dear Hanky.” There was pure admiration in Mrs Griffith’s gaze. Too much admiration for the Beaufort girls: Julia spluttered half a Strawberry Secret across the picnic blanket, and Phillida spilt her tea. Charlotte seized the general uproar to squeeze Gigi’s hand and whisper: “It will all go well, trust me.”

*

Across the beach, on the crease that had been marked out as the playing field, things were running less smoothly. Sidney watched Tom pace up and down like a lion defending his kingdom as his team continued to practice and warm-up. The opposition was still and undeniably missing, and unless the giant sea serpent made a surprise appearance on the beach, scaring all the viewers away, there was no way of ending this without embarrassment. Better end it soon than draw it out. 

“It seems they’ve let you down, Tom,” Sidney quietly said. It was the signal Crowe had been waiting for. 

“No point then in wasting an entire afternoon. Let’s return to the Veuve.”

“Take another swallow,” Babington added happily.

“No, you don’t take a swallow, you take the seagull, Babbers.”

Babington seemed to remember only now that where the Veuve was, there was also Esther. “Yes,” he said, his eyes taking on a dreamy expression. “And this time, I’ll not allow her to fly away.”

Sidney turned away. Being in love seemed to do worse things to his friend’s brain than the most dissolute nights out had done. But before he could dwell further on what being in love did to an otherwise fully functioning male brain, a head appeared on the dunes, and then another one, and a third, and finally the whole town cricket team marched up on the beach. He sighed in relief, and so did his brother by his side. 

“I knew they’d be here,” Tom announced, magically recharged with confidence and energy.

The spectators broke out in cheers as the two teams met. The town’s men looked in incredibly good shape, Sidney had to admit, and they were certainly more of a team than Tom’s odd jumble of hotel workers plus his brothers and friends that happened to stay, aka Babington and Crowe. He hated the thought of losing but losing seemed to be what the afternoon had in store for him. He saw Charlotte Heywood smile up to James Stringer, wishing him luck and wiping a strand of hair from her face as she did so. Stringer smiled back as if she had just presented him with the Ashes urn.

“Is there a prize for the winners, Mr Parker?” Fred Robinson, the plumber, asked.

“Glory!” Tom declared. “And an entry in the museum’s cricket role of honour.”

“No money then? – Well, didn’t think so.” The smile accompanying Fred’s words did not reach his eyes.

This is not boding well, Sidney thought. Maybe, an appearance of the giant sea serpent was desirable after all- “Good luck to you, Mr Parker,” someone said, walking past him. “Although I don’t imagine you’ll need it.”

“Yet more assumptions, Miss Heywood?” She did not answer. She was gone already, her head and her heart apparently elsewhere engaged.

Stringer’s team won the toss, leaving the architect as the first player to bat as Sidney bowled. With a loud thwack, Stringer sent the ball across the field towards Arthur, who obligingly ducked out of the way. The ball landed in a shallow puddle of seawater. Crowe dived in with a splash and returned it to Tom. Over on the beach, the crowd applauded Stringer on making the run. Charlotte Heywood jumped up from her chair and cheered the batsman.

Sidney inwardly groaned. This was soon becoming the afternoon of complete humiliation. Stringer won wicket after wicket as if the applause of one too short trainee only inspired his efforts. It certainly inspired Sidney to bowl more fiercely. Fortunately, at least Edward Denham and Tom’s hotel workers proved to be competent players, with the F&B manager and the sous chef making good some of the ground they were losing every time Arthur fled from a ball or Babington had to be reminded that this was about catching a ball, not a seagull.

Finally, there was only Tom left to bat. Despite the sun burning down on them for hours, he looked pale behind his helmet as he walked towards the stumps. Yet he lifted his bat in a confident gesture to greet his family and please the crowd on the beach. He needs all the confidence he can gather, Sidney thought, as Stringer took a long run-up and hurled a high and fast ball past his brother’s head. This was more of an attack than an honest bowl.

Stringer’s next bowl was hardly easier to bat; in fact, it was impossible. The ball spun along in lightning speed, then took a sudden plunge in front of Tom and rolled away in the sand. Fred Robinson, the opposition’s wicket-keeper, held it up with a triumphant grin.

“Leg before wicket!” Stringer cried.

Was it? It had been too fast, Sidney had not seen it. One more reason to have his eyesight tested-

“I’m sorry, I don’t think it was,” he heard Tom say.

“Out!” Fred did not seem to be in a mood for discussion.

“Now look here,” Tom said. “I really don’t think I am.” He did sound a bit like a petulant child.

“Umpire?” Stringer turned towards Constable Hankins. “His leg hit the ball. It’s against the rules.” 

The constable, who was desperately filing through his rulebook, acquiesced: “Out!”

As the crowd clapped and the town’s players cheered their bowler, Tom shook his head. “Now come along. Be reasonable, fair’s fair. My leg was nowhere near it.” Sidney wished he had seen it, but Fred’s next words to his brother left him with no other choice than to take a side.

“I might have known you’d try to cheat,” the plumber said. “You always do.”

“How dare you speak to my brother like that?”

“Why not?” It was Stringer, no longer beaming under Charlotte Heywood’s applause, but showing a rather uncharacteristic fighting mood. “It’s the truth. None of the workmen bills has been paid for months, but, yes, they will be paid next week, will they not, Mr Parker? If only we show up for the cricket match.”

Sidney felt the colour drain from his face. There was no reason to doubt Stringer’s words. He knew him to be a man of integrity, and what he said matched perfectly with Tom’s recent requests. The situation had to be really, really grave if the architect risked a showdown right here on the pitch.

There was no more cheering from the crowd. Even if they did not catch the details, the drama on the playing field was evident. Sidney saw Mary, visibly shaken, and Diana, a single large question mark on her round face, and Charlotte Heywood, no longer clapping and beaming, but leaning forward, anxiously trying to understand what was going on.

“I warned you it would come to this, Mr Parker,” Stringer said. 

As a reply, Tom dropped his bat and his helmet and walked away.

“Tom!” Sidney cried, but his brother did not turn. His head held down, he walked away, careless about the mud that splashed his feet and legs.

“Ahem.” Constable Hankins was clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, but I must confess that… I believe that in the heat of the moment, I made a mistake. Not out.”

“Been talking to the video referee, have you?” Crowe asked. Someone laughed, but Sidney did not listen. He ran after his brother. “Tom, come back. Finish the game.”

“It is finished.” Tom did not bother to stop. It dawned on Sidney that it was not only a game of cricket that was finished.

“You can’t leave like this, Tom. Where are you going?”

“What do you care?” Tom’s eyes said it all. Their expression contained eight years of unspoken reproaches. What do you care, Sidney? About me? About your family? About our heritage? About the hotel?

“We win!” Stringer’s triumphant voice came from the pitch. “You haven’t got anyone left to replace him, so we win.”

Sidney closed his eyes. Oh, how he hated to lose.

“I’ll play!” someone cried.

When Sidney opened his eyes again, he saw Charlotte Heywood marching towards the pitch as if she was Admiral Nelson, sailing into battle. Stringer was beaming at her with a mix of joy and admiration. Fred Robinson and Crowe did nothing to hide their pleasant surprise.

“Is this even legal?” Constable Hankins asked.

“Why should it be illegal?” Charlotte Heywood said. “This match is hotel workers against townspeople. I’m working at the hotel, so I believe I’m qualified to join the team.”

“Yes, but…” The Constable looked her up and down. “You are a woman, Miss Heywood.” Sidney heard some of the men from both teams snigger. There was no doubt: she was a woman. And what a woman.

Presumptuous, naïve, too short and too big all at the same time.

Brave, strong and never deterred by an obstacle. Or by a man telling her what to do and what to think.

Staring the Constable square in the eye, her dimple very prominent, she said: “Mr Hankins, women fly jumbo jets these days. They perform heart surgeries and lead entire nations. I’m absolutely confident that I will be able to handle a cricket bat.” Mr Hankins gasped for air but did not raise any further doubts. Sidney had no doubts either.

“You all heard the umpire. My brother wasn’t out. We play on.” 

The crowd on the beach cheered as Charlotte put on the protective gear and positioned herself in front of the wicket, showing a firm grip on the bat. Sidney considered walking over from his wicket to correct her posture. Not because it was wrong - quite on the contrary, she had a perfect batting stance – but because correcting it would provide an ideal opportunity to graze her and to find out whether… oh hell. What was he thinking of? In front of twenty-one men and a beach full of spectators? And with her being Gigi’s partner in crime? Yet she was his only chance of winning this game. He cleared his throat and called: “Keep your eye on the ball!”

“Thank you. I know what I’m doing.” She didn’t even look at him. 

“If you can’t get the run, stay put.” Now she lost her stance and _did_ look at him.

“Yes, thank you. I know exactly what I’m doing. Now please, I’m concentrating, and you’re putting me off.”

Sidney closed his helmet and gave up. Next to him, Stringer prepared to bowl, still a happy smirk on his face – so happy that he bowled her an extra soft ball. Charlotte repaid him by hitting it hard, and with the cheers of the crowd, sent it sailing towards the boundary.

“Run!” Sidney shouted, but she was already on her way. She really knew exactly what she was doing, and when they had both returned to their wickets, all he could do was smirk as admiringly as Stringer – and hope that the visor of his helmet was hiding most of it.

*

Since moving to Bristol for her studies, Charlotte had not participated in the annual Upper Willingden versus Nether Willingden mixed cricket match. Still, in the end, batting was like cycling: once you learned it, you never forgot how to do it. When she held the bat in her hands, the rest followed immediately: the correct stance, the concentration, the eye on the ball, the excitement of the game.

Maybe a little more excitement this time, because of who her partner was. He who had shouted her down on Sanditon’s station square. He who since Saturday morning had looked at her in no other way than in disdain. He who throughout the whole afternoon had uttered exactly five words to her, two of them being a formal address and one of the other three his infamous trademark term: _assumptions,_ only complete with a displeased twitch of the mouth.

Yet here they were, in the final stage of the game, out for glory and an entry in the museum’s cricket role, trying to make up for Tom Parker’s shameful departure. And they were accumulating run after run and making good much of the ground lost through Babington stalking seagulls and Arthur shying away from touching a ball. It was difficult to say with the helmet and the dazzling sunlight, but every time Charlotte passed Sidney during running, she was sure she saw him smiling. If not at her, then at the joy of the exertion.

Finally, it was James’s last bowl. He had undoubtedly come to regret that first soft beginner’s ball and reverted to bowling seriously. This last one, however, was an easy one. Charlotte hit it across the field and started to run. It was her final run. Once she had reached the other wicket, the hotel team had won. On the beach, the crowd erupted into cheers, and on the pitch, Sidney Parker took off his helmet and ran towards her, then suddenly stopped himself. 

Charlotte was not deterred. “Is that a smile I detected?” 

He grimaced. “I doubt it.” It _was_ a smile. She held his gaze. Apart from the afternoon on the beach and the dance with Alicia at the ball, she had never seen him with a carefree and happy smile. It was a beautiful thing to behold. 

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. James came walking up to her, followed by Fred.

“I’m sorry you lost, James. Thank you for going easy on me. It was very kind of you, though not strictly necessary.”

“You won fair and square, Charlotte. But you remember what you said about playing on the same team with me next time?”

“I do.”

James grinned. “Then I’ve got the price I was after.”

She watched him as he and Fred walked away, his friend patting him on the shoulder. Then she realised that Sidney Parker was still looking at her, apparently unaware of the people around them, the cheering, the gratulations, the impromptu analyses of the game. What to do, what to say now?

_I’m sorry for my behaviour at the station._

_Can we not rewrite our history?_

_What does Wi$**,’’’’’ mean?_

_I want to explore a distant country…_ no, that better remained unsaid. 

“Sidney!” Mrs Griffiths high-pitched voice made him break the gaze. “Sidney!” The poor woman looked panicked and close to fainting. “I’ve lost her. I’ve lost Gigi!”

Charlotte felt the sand shift beneath her feet and dropped the bat. Then she started to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Charlotte and Sidney will have a discussion on "The Topic of Love".


	17. The Topic of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back and thanks again for all your feedback.
> 
> As some of you seem to be wondering about Sidney's very meaningful message: there was a clue in chapter 14. But I also happen to know that they will discuss the matter in a later chapter (and by that stage, they will not be shouting at each other).
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!

“You know something.”

They were both panting, standing at the entrance of the Study Café after running up from the beach and along the promenade to Trafalgar House. The café was well-attended on this Sunday afternoon, and many guests turned their heads at the slightly dishevelled looking couple wearing cricket gear and leg pads. Otis and Gigi were not among them. Charlotte’s heart sank.

“You know something,” Sidney repeated, sounding more urgent now. “Tell me what it is.”

Charlotte was searching for a way to put it nicely, but there was none. It was her own doing. For once she deserved the tongue lashing that was about to follow. If not worse. 

“Hello, Charlotte. Hungry after cricket?” It was Fred’s cousin, the café owner, who got her a respite. “We’re a bit busy at the moment, but if you want to wait for a few minutes, I’ll find a nice little table for you two. – Fred has sent me some pictures of the match. I can’t believe you smashed the townsmen nearly all on your own.”

“Thank you. We… um, we’re actually looking for someone. – Do you remember the girl I was here with last time?”

“The tall, sulky one? Yes, of course.”

“Has she been here today?”

“No.” Fred’s cousin shook her head. “Though I did see her outside. She was meeting someone.”

“She was…,” Sidney gasped. 

“A woman?” Charlotte asked. “Did she meet a woman?”

“It was definitely a woman. Couldn’t see much of her, though. She was wearing a wide straw hat and large sunglasses. I saw them walking down the street towards the station.” Charlotte turned and ran outside to scan the street as if there was any hope of finding a shadow of Otis and Gigi. Sidney followed her. 

“What have you done?” he asked.

She resigned herself to her fate. “I have allowed Gigi to borrow my phone. Since you confiscated hers and even had the landline removed from her room. – Her heart was broken because you forbad her to see Otis. Don’t you remember what it was like to be seventeen and in love?” Judging by his expression, he had never been seventeen – and never been in love either. Nevertheless, Charlotte continued. Better it all came out at once. “They arranged to meet today for an hour when everyone was distracted by the cricket match. It was just for a coffee, here in the café, so they could see each other, talk and … hold hands.”

“Hold hands!”

“I was supposed to go with her. I intended to tell Mrs Griffiths that Gigi was having... female problems and that I’d take care of her, but… in the excitement of the match… I… I forgot.”

For once, he did not shout her down. And that was even worse. Seeing him outwardly cool and with his anger in control made herself only look more foolish and naïve. 

“You do realise that Georgiana is the underage daughter of a very, very wealthy man, don’t you, Miss Heywood?”

“Of course I do, I…”

“Which is one of the reasons why I like to be informed of her whereabouts and her company. So if anything happens to her, this will be down on _your_ head.” Without another look at her, he strode across the street and towards the promenade, leaving Charlotte fighting her tears. This time, the scales were against her. This was no case of rash judgement or clashing opinions. This was not about unsavoury details of his private life. This was about Gigi’s safety.

*

Sidney was so angry that he did not even feel his anger. It was as if a massive wave of acid was building up inside of him, cauterising any other emotion: his fear for Gigi, his ire about that manipulating creature called Otis, his rage at Charlotte Heywood. How could she? How could she! Of course, she could. She had a phone, a heart and more than one reason to think badly of him. 

He reached his car in the promenade’s parking lot, took off his leg pads and threw them into the tiny boot of the Aston Martin. His phone was buzzing with messages from Tom, from Mary, Arthur, Diana, Babington and Crowe. He skipped most of them, apart from a lengthy one from Tom. 

After the humiliation on the cricket pitch, his brother was on the way to London now, hoping to market the open-day, the apartments and the golf course and to find new investors. He was sorry for all the trouble and- Sidney skipped this one as well. Compared to a missing millionaire’s underage daughter that was under his guardianship, Tom’s worries seemed petty.

He jumped into his car and breathed deeply and evenly for a few seconds. No rash actions. Fred’s cousin had seen them walking down the street leading to the station. There was one hint. And he had made sure to confiscate Gigi’s passport along with the phone and the credit cards, so at least she was unable to leave the country.

And Gigi might be trouble and angry, but she was no idiot. She knew that her disappearance might set half of the British police force into motion. Chances were that that was precisely what she was hoping for in a bid to provoke and humiliate him. And to revenge her father for what had happened two years ago on his yacht in the Caribbean with… what was her name again? Melissa… Marissa. In frustration, he sounded the horn. Evil deeds always came back. Good deeds never did.

The obvious point to start a search – before sending half of the British police force in pursuit – was the station. He parked his car on the disabled parking space and entered the Victorian building, ready to bully the station guard into showing him the CCTV footage of the afternoon. 

The station guard was not impressed. “It’s called data protection law, sir. Cannot have anybody walk in and demand showtime.”

“Damn it! This is not about showtime, this is about my foster daughter running away with her lover!”

“Would you happen to remember what your foster daughter looks like?”

“What?”

“I happen to remember two lovebirds, jumping on the 16.16 to London. Made it last minute. Two girls, though. If that is why you are so concerned, sir.”

“Thank you,” Sidney said, turned around and bumped into Charlotte Heywood. 

“Mr Parker…” 

“Miss Heywood.” He was not even surprised. He grabbed her by the arm and marched her out of the building. “Go home.”

“But I wish to help.”

“Help?” He looked her up and down. Nothing but muddy legs, dishevelled hair, large eyes and heaving cleavage. And a dimple. “How exactly do you think your presence would help?”

“Well, for one thing, Gigi has been using my phone.” She took it out of her trouser pocket and offered it to him. “I thought you might find something on it. – And I believe she might have gone to London. So I came here to find out whether she has been seen, and to follow her.”

“Coincidentally, I have had the same idea. And yes, _they_ have been seen,” Sidney said, filing through the online protocols of her phone. “Did you search train times to London for Sunday afternoon?” He showed her the page. She shook her head, blushing.

“No.”

“Did you even think about checking your phone when she returned it to you?” Now she looked up to him, her face full of defiance.

“I’m her friend, not her watchdog.” 

He twitched his mouth at that and continued with browsing through her messages. Quite a lot of Heywoods. Several names he had never heard of. James Stringer, discussing options of avocado salad for lunch. Mr Sidney Parker. _Mr_ Sidney Parker?

_Wi$**,’’’’’_

So she had neither deleted him nor the cryptic message he had accidentally sent when he dropped his phone at Heathrow immigration. Did that mean anything? 

“Mr Parker?”

Basically, it meant that she was one of three women making his life a misery right now. Four, if one counted Eliza. 

Her last message was from Otis, telling her that she was on the train and expecting to arrive in Sanditon on time. Damn the woman.

“I’m in large part to blame for what happened,” Charlotte said. “You have to allow me the chance to put it right.” Her obvious distress combined with her pleading eyes made him soften a little.

“You’ve done enough,” he said. They had reached his car now. “What are you doing?” he added as she opened the passenger door.

“I’m going with you.”

“I’m taking care of this. _You_ are going back to the hotel and calm down the rest of my family.” There was still the matter of Tom, after all.

“You cannot order me around, Mr Parker. I’m not your foster child.”

“And you cannot decide to occupy my car.” She gave a shrug and sat down next to him on the passenger seat.

“Call the police to have me removed. Oh. Maybe not such a good idea, given the fact that you are stealing a disabled parking space. Again.”

He leaned his head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Miss Heywood, my life is full of worries right now. Can you please stop being one of them?”

“It’s Gigi you have to worry about, not me. If only you’d been honest with me… if only you’d told me about Otis and their weekend in London before you went to Australia…”

“I could not have made my feelings for Miss Molyneux any clearer.”

“You could have! All this would never have happened if only you’d been honest with me. Gigi is in love, and despite all her bravado, she’s deeply troubled, because she’s not in love with a nice boring future banker, but with a woman who is an artist and ten years her senior. She needs your guidance, not your criticism. Don’t you see that? Whenever you disparage Otis, you give Gigi another reason to defy you.”

He shook his head, too exhausted by it all to explode. “I had no idea it was so easy to manipulate you, Miss Heywood.”

“Manipulate _me_?”

“Look, I know I’m not a shining knight. In fact, I’m dreading the day I have to face Gigi’s father and explain it all to him.” He turned his head to face her, and when he saw the genuine concern that was now in her eyes, he felt a tiny little twinge of hope.

“Explain what?” she asked. He cleared his throat. 

“Miss Molyneux, or Otis, as you know her, took over the art department at Gigi’s boarding school after half term in February. She’s her teacher. She cannot be in a relationship with her.”

“Oh. I… that…” He watched Charlotte process this new piece of information. “I had no idea,” she finally said. “That’s bad, I agree, but … oh. Is that why Gigi was expelled from school?”

“Both of them. They were both expelled. But only after that weekend in London. They overdrew the limit on Gigi’s credit cards and got her arrested for underage drinking while Otis fled the stage. And they forged my signature to get Gigi out of school in the first place.”

“I did not know that,” Charlotte said after a few moments of shocked silence, not looking at him. “Gigi told me bits and pieces… but never the full story.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I can’t have her in the company of that woman, you see that now, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, I do see that.” There was a treacherous shimmer in her eyes as she was staring blindly ahead of her. He understood that he had to share a little more with her.

“Gigi can be… creative when it comes to the truth. I have always put that down to her family situation … losing her mother when she was only three years old, her father’s blend of girlfriends that followed, growing up in an environment where money could buy anything, yet remaining an outsider because of the colour of her skin. I used to laugh about her little lies and made a sport out of exposing them when she was younger… playfully, never in a reproachful way. It was only Otis who managed to manipulate that behaviour into outright evil.”

Somehow, Charlotte seemed to regain her energy. She was never one to fret and dramatise, she was always searching for solutions. It was a quality Sidney actually admired. 

“So what do you suggest we do now?” she asked. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“London is a city of eight million people. I can as well start searching for a needle in a haystack. The only thing I can do is inform the police.”

“No! No… I have another idea.”

*

Guilt, anxiety, self-reproaches: Charlotte found it impossible to name all the emotions that came down on her. She did not doubt Sidney’s tale. It was all too obvious, the lies, the half-truths, the words unsaid. Again, the scales were in Sidney’s favour, however hard it was to admit. But there was one thing he had overlooked.

“The hotel. When Gigi told me about the weekend in London, her version was less _adults only_ , but don’t you think they may choose the same hotel again? Especially if they _want_ to be found and see you humiliated in front of half of the British police?” Sidney’s mouth twitched.

“It was Beecroft’s Boutique Hotel. Somewhere off Fulham Road.”

“Right,” Charlotte said, opening Google maps on her phone. “Oh.”

“What is it? Has it burned down?”

“No … no, it’s just … it’s located in Sydney Walk.”

Sidney sounded the horn in frustration. “She does this to annoy me. She wants to be found.”

“But still better us storming in than the police, right?”

“Absolutely,” Sidney conceded and started the car.

They remained silent for most of the drive, each of them following their own thoughts. Charlotte made a quick call to Mary to make sure she did not worry – she had enough to worry about her husband, poor woman -, typed a message to James and another one to her mother who had tried to call her – a call she had rejected. She was not going to discuss the events of the weekend with her mother when Sidney Parker was sitting next to her.

Just before reaching London, Sidney left the motorway, followed the road into the next town and parked in front of a Pizza Express. 

“What are we doing here?” Charlotte asked. 

“Food,” Sidney said. “Don’t know about you, but I am hungry.”

“But do we have time for that?”

“I trust Gigi and Otis are safe in Beecroft’s Boutique Hotel, and I don’t want to have you fainting on top of everything else.”

“I’m not the fainting type,” Charlotte said. He grinned.

“Of course not. You’re the one who nurses the fainted girl back into consciousness with her left hand while she takes down the villain with her right, aren’t you, Miss Heywood?”

He did not deserve an answer to that. But he was right, she was hungry, and a healthy bite of Pizza Margherita and a coke did revive her spirits. 

It was a quick meal, and for most of the time, he was busy texting back and forth with Tom and Mary. Apparently, Lady Denham had been taken ill after the cricket and had to be rushed to hospital in Brighton – one more worry for Tom.

Charlotte watched Sidney, bent over his phone with a furrowed brow. Her actions had only added to his troubles, that much she understood, and the knowledge made her feel terrible.

“I never meant to place Gigi in harm’s way,” she said, hoping to start an apology.

He looked up from his phone. “And yet you did.”

“All I ever cared for was her happiness.” 

“What do you think I care about?” 

“That is anyone’s guess.” Well, maybe not anyone’s, but hers. 

“I have done the best I can by Gigi,” he said, shoving the phone into his pocket and staring out of the window to the restaurant’s parking lot. The Aston Martin was drawing the usual crowd of admirers. Charlotte felt her anger return with his words, and her anger was stronger than any self-pity.

“No,” she said with so much emphasis that some guests from the other tables turned their heads. “You have abdicated your responsibility. She is a troubled teenager, and all you could think of was to send her to your brother’s hotel to be looked after by your former nanny – and by me when you strolled off to the other side of the world for your oh-so-important-business. If you were so concerned about her welfare, why did you not look after her yourself? When you asked me to see that she was kept out of mischief, why did you not tell me what that mischief was?”

He was playing with his napkin, evading her gaze. “It was a piece of information I did not think fit to share.”

“Of course not! Because you are determined to be an outlier, to solve all the problems of the world all by yourself. Why share anything with anyone?”

“Please do not presume to know my mind, Miss Heywood.” He dropped two twenty pound notes on the table, stood up and left the restaurant. Charlotte followed him, determined not to let him get away this time. 

“How could anyone know your mind?” she asked his back once they were outside. “You take pains to be unknowable. All I know is that you cannot bear the thought of two people in love.”

He turned around abruptly, glaring down on her, his face a thundering mass of anger. “What Gigi and Otis have is _not_ love.”

“For Gigi, it is love, however misguided.”

“And what do you know about the topic, Miss Heywood?” 

Maybe not as much as most girls of her age. But that was none of his business. “I would sooner be naïve than insensible of feeling!” she declared. 

To her surprise, her words made all the anger drain from his face. The man standing in front of her on the kerb suddenly looked five years younger and extremely vulnerable, and he searched her eyes as he quietly asked: “Is that what you really think of me?” 

Charlotte felt something shift inside of her, something she could not even name. Yet she understood that it was important. She did not know what to say, and she did not know how to escape those dark, sad, questioning eyes. He gave the answer himself: “I’m sorry you should think so. How much easier my life would be if I _were_ insensible of feeling.” He turned around again and walked back to the car.

Charlotte kept staring at him as she followed him to where the Aston Martin was parked. Was it conceivable that she had had him wrong? That he was not devoid of emotion? But if that was the case, who had trampled his feelings, who had bruised him so deeply? Who had made Sidney Parker the conundrum that he was?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, there's "No Fooling Around". (Might take a few days until we get there, though. It's this real-life thing again.)


	18. No Fooling Around

Beecroft’s Boutique Hotel on Sydney Walk was located in a quiet street of Victorian townhouses. Sidney parked the Aston Martin right in front of the entrance, ignoring the no-parking-signs. 

“Do we have a plan?” Charlotte asked. They had not spoken much since leaving the Pizza Express, even though there were a million questions between them.

“Yes,” Sidney said, climbing out of the driver’s seat. “You are staying here inside the car.”

“That’s not a plan,” Charlotte said and followed him to the front door.

“I told you to…

“Honestly, Mr Parker, if you wish to order a woman around like a dog, I think you are at least one hundred years too late.”

He gave an exasperated gasp and rang the bell. They were buzzed in immediately and welcomed by a middle-aged woman wearing too much make-up and a top with a very deep neckline. She looked at them with a knowing expression: a handsome man in cricket clothes and a slightly dishevelled girl in jeans and a t-shirt. No luggage.

“Looking for a room?” she said. “Can give you a special deal for tonight. Ten per cent off if you pay cash. That will be without breakfast, I presume?”

“We are not here for…” Sidney started, then with a gaze at Charlotte stopped. She blushed deeply. “We are looking for two of your guests,” he continued. “Georgiana Lambe and Otis Molyneux. What’s their room number?”

The receptionist shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, luv. You might have heard about something called Data Protection Law. Can’t give you details about guests just because you walk in and ask for them, Mr Handsome.”

“I’m not asking questions,” Sidney said, reached into his trouser pocket and put a fifty-pound note on the desk. “I’m buying answers.”

The woman eyed the note for a second, then held it under the counterfeit detector, nodded, rolled it up and made it vanish under her sleeve. Charlotte gasped, unable to say if she was disgusted by Sidney’s handling of the situation – or whether she admired him for it.

“You sure you don’t need a room for yourself and your little lady?” the receptionist asked.

“I’m neither his little lady nor anyone else’s,” Charlotte said. “And _you_ will be a miserable lady if anything happens to my friend Georgiana.”

“You’re a fiery one.” The receptionist smiled suggestively at her, then turned to Sidney. “Better hold on to her before she flies away.”

Sidney’s fist went crashing down on the reception desk. “If you know something, I advise you to tell me right away. Because if you don’t, this place will be crawling with police officers within ten minutes, and they will be looking for my foster daughter everywhere, including your cash register.” 

The receptionist stopped smiling suggestively and turned serious. “You missed them by about an hour. They were here, asking for a room. I remembered them from the last time they stayed. The room was a mess, the credit card was overdrawn and could not be charged for the empty minibar, and the police came sniffing around because one of the girls was underage. So when they asked for a room today, I claimed we were fully booked.”

Sidney closed his eyes and with a deep groan, leaned against the reception desk, his head in his hands. Gigi was gone, a needle in the haystack. Charlotte felt the urge to extend her hand and stroke his head. Just to console him. And to find out what his hair would feel like under her touch _. I long to explore a distant country_ … what? This was really not the right place and not the right moment to start fantasising about that cheesy poem again.

The receptionist reached for something under her desk and handed Charlotte a business card. “Try this place. I recommended it to them. - The owner is my ex, so I like to send him guests that are bound to make trouble.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte replied as Sidney snatched the card from her hand. 

“ _Sam’s Bar and Hotel_ ,” he read.

“It’s across Fulham Road, then a few minutes’ walk towards South Kensington station,” the receptionist said. “You can leave your car here. I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Sidney looked at Charlotte. “I don’t suppose there is any point in telling you to stay here as well.”

Instead of a reply, she marched towards the entrance door and threw it open with a loud bang that made the windows rattle.

“Fiery one,” she heard the receptionist say again, but Sidney was by her side already. He rushed down the street towards Fulham Road and ignored the traffic lights as well as the noise of the car horns around them. Charlotte found it difficult to keep up with his large strides, then suddenly nearly bumped into him. He had stopped dead. Maybe fifty yards ahead of them, a flashy red sign said “Sam’s Bar and Hotel”. Parked in front of it were two ambulances and at least five police cars.

Charlotte and Sidney started running at the same time.

*

“You can’t fool around with Sam Siddaway.” The proprietor and name sponsor of “Sam’s Bar and Hotel” was leaning against the metal fence in front of his entrance, offering Sidney a cigarette. 

Sidney accepted. He had quit smoking years ago, but this was a situation that justified a relapse. Sam Siddaway gave him a light. “I know the ex-wife over at Beecroft’s ist holding a grudge against me. Always sends me the foul eggs. But I have a nose…” He tipped on it. “I can sniff them out.”

“And I’m glad you did,” Sidney said, and that was the understatement of the century. He looked over to the ambulance where Charlotte sat, holding a shivering and sobbing Gigi in her arms. A paramedic was placing an orange blanket on their shoulders. 

And he was glad that Charlotte was there. That she had insisted and stayed by his side. 

He was glad, despite all the infuriating things she said to him, despite the fact that she was too short and too big all at the same time, despite the horrified look on her face when Sam Siddaway’s ex-wife had called her a fiery one. She probably was. No. He stopped that thought immediately. Not appropriate. Absolutely not appropriate, especially as right at this moment, two policewomen were leading a handcuffed Otis out of the hotel and to a police car. 

Otis held her head high but stopped when she saw Sidney. For a moment, their eyes met. He saw defiance and disdain, but no regret. Over in the ambulance, Gigi wailed as Charlotte turned her friend’s head away from the scene. 

She was right, of course, no one should see their lover in such a situation. Sidney drew deeply on the cigarette. Had he ever called Charlotte Heywood a „girl of little understanding”? She must be the most knowledgeable women of his acquaintance, at least when it came to emotions. Such a stark contrast to himself. 

“I knew they were fishy the moment they walked in,” Sam Siddaway said. “And when the young duchess claimed to be eighteen but had no identification on her… well. Old trick. You smile and give them a special rate, and once they are upstairs, you call the police. – Though I had no idea we’d caught such a big fish.”

“No,” Sidney said wrily. “Neither had I.” For that was the worst of it all. He had mistrusted Gigi’s flamboyant new art teacher from the very first moment his foster daughter had uttered her name with that admiring gleam in her eyes. Yet neither he nor the headmistress at Gigi’s boarding school nor Gigi herself had suspected that the woman presenting herself as Otis Molyneux was called neither Otis nor Molyneux. Nothing about her was real, probably not even the colour of her hair: she was not American but Canadian, she was not twenty-seven but twenty-five, and finally, she was not an artist or a teacher, but an impostor, specialised in fleecing rich kids in posh boarding schools. She was well known to Interpol and wanted in half a dozen American federal states for forgery, fraud, blackmail and several other offences. 

The mere thought of her so close to George Lambe’s fortune made Sidney feel sick. He watched the police car with Otis drive off, the siren ringing through the empty street.

And yet, there was one thing about her that was real. Why had she been so reckless? Why had she run away with Gigi despite the risk of the police becoming involved? Earlier in the evening, Charlotte had said something about misguided love. Was that what it was? He looked over to the ambulance again. Charlotte was holding Gigi’s hands now, stroking them softly. 

Charlotte. They really had to stop this Mr-Parker-Miss-Heywood-nonsense. Though maybe not tonight. Tonight it was wiser to keep that boundary of formality between them.

“Mr Parker?” A plainclothes policeman came walking up to him, showing his identification. Sidney dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. “Sergeant Khan, Scotland Yard. I understand you are Miss Lambe’s… foster father?”

“I am her foster father,” Sidney confirmed, and for the first time, it felt real.

By the time all questions were answered, it was well past midnight. Sidney left the Aston Martin where it was, thinking that there were worse things than a penalty charge or being towed out of the way. He joined Charlotte and Gigi in a cab to Bedford Place. Gigi, red-eyed, had stopped crying but would not meet his gaze, staring out of the window at the city lights and holding on to Charlotte’s hand as if her life depended on it. 

Charlotte did not say anything either. Sidney could tell how much the events of the day had worn her out. This morning, they had not been on speaking terms. This afternoon, they had enjoyed (yes, enjoyed) the most remarkable inning of his entire cricket career, and this evening, they had witnessed the arrest of a criminal and the undoing of Gigi’s world. He longed to say something encouraging, but he could not think of anything, and in the end, he just kept staring out of the window as well.

Despite the late hour, Tom was expecting them at the family’s London apartment, being kept awake from Sidney’s urgent messages to prepare the guest room and two beds for a late arrival.

“Whatever’s the matter?” he asked when he saw his brother still in his sports gear, followed by his own invaluable trainee who was supporting a teary Gigi.

“Later, Tom,” Sidney said, seeing the girls to their room. Gigi sank down on one of the beds, looking up to him and opening her mouth for the first time since he had seen her again. 

“What will become of her now?”

“I don’t know, Gigi. I don’t know which charges they will press against her here in Britain, or whether she will be extradited to the States.” Silent tears returned to her eyes. “It’s no longer your concern, Gigi.”

She shook her head, a tiny ounce of her fighting spirit coming back. “I’m not you. I cannot cauterise my heart.”

Sidney bit his lip. Right at this moment, his heart was anything but cauterised. He knew so well what she was going through, and he had not expected that the memory still had the power to hit him so brutally. Even after eight years. 

He kneeled in front of his foster daughter, covered her slender fingers with his large hands and looked up to her. “Your world feels undone right now, Gigi,” he gently said. “And it _is_ undone. I know that. But you must get her from your mind.” He tentatively reached out to touch her cheek with his thumb, but Gigi turned her head away. “You _must_ get her from your mind,” he repeated quietly. “Or else you’ll go mad.”

Only then did he remember that they were not alone, that Charlotte was also in the room, watching them. He came back to his feet. 

“Good night, Miss Heywood.”

“Good night, Mr Parker,” she whispered.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, wondering whether this day, emotional as it had been, might one day be looked back at as a turning point – for himself, for Gigi, for Charlotte Heywood… - and for his brother, who was still waiting for him with a nightcap.

He joined Tom in the living room, gratefully accepted the Chivas Regal his brother handed him and sank down on the uncomfortable ancient sofa that made “sinking down” practically impossible. One had to sit upright. It was a relic from the times when their family had owned not only a flat on the first floor but the whole building.

Sidney stretched his legs and took a good sip of liquid honey-coloured relief. “Today I have applied successfully for the title of worst foster father ever.”

“I’m sure you’ve done your best,” Tom said. Mercifully, at least he had regained some of his spirits after the disaster on the cricket pitch.

“No.” Sidney sighed deeply, the pictures of the evening coming back to him. “Char… your invaluable Miss Heywood was right. I have abdicated my responsibility for Gigi. God knows how I am going to explain this to her father. The man saves my life, makes me come clean, mentors me to success … and I repay him by letting his underage daughter slip away with a criminal.”

“But you couldn’t know that she was a criminal. And it is just one girl you are responsible for, Sidney.” Maybe, Tom’s spirits were not that high after all. “ _I_ have let down my wife, my children, my siblings, my employees, and a throng of honest workmen. – I don’t know how to pay them. I honestly don’t know.” .

“Come on, Tom.” Sidney patted his shoulders. “There will be a banker in London willing to invest in a project like Regency Row.”

“No. I’ve been trying to find buyers and investors for the last two months now. No one cares about our hotel or the golf course or Regency Row. They like the idea, but then it starts raining, and they remember the average water temperature of the Channel in summer, and they are off to the Mediterranean. If we were all forced by some supernatural power to stay in Britain for our holidays, we might be saved. But I can’t think of such a scenario.”

“Neither can I,” Sidney admitted.

“So it’s over for me.”

“It’s far from over.” It was a quarter past one in the night after one of the most hellish evenings of his life, and Sidney was not going to bury his family’s hotel along with Gigi’s first love within just a couple of hours. “You’ve been talking to the wrong people. I will ask Babington tomorrow – he knows the right people. – As for your workmen: How much do you need?”

“Sidney, I could not ask …”

“I happen to have negotiated a very advantageous divorce deal for a client just a few weeks ago. The fee is due any day now. So how much do you need?”

“But that is your hard-earned money…”

“I drive a vintage Aston Martin. I have everything I want, Tom.” (That was a lie, but a white lie, given the hour and the circumstances). “The question is: What does my brother need?”

Tom closed his eyes for a second. “One hundred-fifty thousand. That will fill the deepest holes and keep us in business.”

“Very well.” For a split second, the whiskey glass shook in Sidney’s fingers. “You … or your competent trainee will email me a list of your most pressing creditors, and I will make sure they are honoured before the end of the week.”

“That is too much, Sidney.”

“No, it is not.” He touched his brother’s arm. “Remember what you did for me eight years ago? I did wrong by Gigi. Let me do right by you now. Please.”

“My dear Sidney…” Tom’s voice was shaking with emotion. Sidney quickly switched to another topic. 

“Does Mary know about all this?”

“She knows since the cricket match. And she doesn’t answer my calls and my messages.” 

“Now that is a matter I cannot help you with. The workings of a marriage are beyond me. The only thing I do know, Tom, is that …” He stopped himself. What he had wanted to say would have sounded incredibly cheesy and desperate. “Find a way to make it up with Mary, or all the money in the world will not help you,” he said instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is about "Love Lost and Found".


	19. Love Lost and Found

Charlotte woke up disoriented, wondering where she was and whose bed she was in. Then she saw Gigi’s curls on the pillow of the opposite bed and remembered everything: the cricket match, the drive to London, the conversations with Sidney, the arrest of Otis Molyneux and Gigi’s broken heart. The late-night return to the Parkers’ flat in Bloomsbury.

She sat up, grabbed for her phone and scanned her messages – some Monday morning greetings from her family as always, a somewhat concerned text from James, a less concerned one from Mary, telling her she should feel right at home at the flat and was welcome to use any of her clothes she found there. For that offer, Charlotte was extremely grateful. She had been sleeping in her cricket t-shirt and was starting to feel uncomfortable. 

Gigi was still fast asleep, even when Charlotte returned from a quick shower. Dressed in a blouse and skirt from Mary’s wardrobe, she went in search of her hosts. She found Tom Parker at the breakfast table, happily sipping a cup of coffee and humming a melody. He looked better than he had in days – even better than last night, leaving her wondering how that miracle cure had been worked between one o’clock in the night and ten o’clock in the morning. 

“Charlotte, my dear! What an unexpected pleasure for breakfast. Tea? Coffee? We don’t boast the delights of the Sanditon Grand’s traditional breakfast buffet in our London abode, but I’m sure you won’t stay hungry.”

“Thank you. Tea, please,” Charlotte said, slightly overwhelmed. Mr Parker was talking catalogue speech again. Not necessarily a good sign.

“Splendid. Tea. What an adventure you had last night! Sidney has told me all about it.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, wondering where Sidney was. Gone? To Sanditon? To Sydney? “I’m sorry I fled from Sanditon like that. I’m missing my workday today – I think if I catch a train after breakfast, I can at least…”

“What? No no, no, no, my dear. You are excused. And you’ve been working so hard – if anything, you deserve an extra day off in our bustling capital.”

“I’m not that fond of London, and there’s so much left to do for the open-day…”

“There’s nothing that can’t be done tomorrow,” Mr Parker said in blissful ignorance of Charlotte’s checklist on his whiteboard. “You enjoy a nice day out in London, and I’ll take you back to Sanditon tomorrow in the car. Are you trembling?”

“I’m…” Indeed, she was. Thinking of one and a half hour with Tom Parker on the motorway made her so. But it was not only his driving style that made her tremble. She put down the teacup. “I… I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

“About what, my dear? Politics? Economics? Atomic physics?”

Your brother, she thought. But she could not say that, of course. “I have always been so sure of my own judgement. But since last night… I have been so blinded by sentiment, naivety and prejudice … I had it all wrong about Otis. - No wonder your brother has such a low opinion of me,” she added, speaking to the contents of her teacup. 

“Sidney? Oh, no, that’s not the case. Only last night he called you my competent trainee. Or was it capable? I don’t remember, it was really late and the whiskey bottle was half empty. Whatever it was, rest assured: he is a conundrum to all of us.”

“But a conundrum can be solved,” Charlotte said, feeling the colour rise to her cheeks. Sidney Parker called her competent? Capable? But was that worth anything at all if a half-empty whiskey bottle was involved? “Your brother seems so determined to keep the whole world at arm’s length,” she said, still puzzled.

“That wasn’t always the case.” Mr Parker refilled his coffee cup, leaned back and glanced out of the window as if out there, a younger version of his brother was about to appear. “As a boy, he was very different. We always knew he wasn’t destined for the hotel business. He was the clever one, the one who juggled a mathematical problem with the right hand while winning the school’s cricket cup with the left. God, how I sometimes hated him in those days. And all the girls from school, mooning over him for his dark looks…” He laughed. “But he was always the gentleman. Never took advantage. Helped Diana with her homework, made sure Arthur learnt how to do fractions, and returned all those pink little love letters that were left for him at Reception. He only ever had eyes for…” Mr Parker paused, cleared his throat, then took another sip of his coffee before finally saying: “Eliza.”

“Eliza,” Charlotte repeated.

“Yes. Eliza. In fact, do you remember I told you…ah, well. Not really part of the story. - She was one of our regular summer guests. Her family came every year for two weeks. Two double rooms, fourth floor, sea view, connecting doors, full board – excellent business. Her mother was afraid of flying, I think. That’s why they never holidayed abroad. Lovely woman, her mother – if only more people were like her. – Anyway. Eliza.”

“Eliza,” Charlotte said.

“They had known each other since they were children. It was a friendship that bloomed every year for two weeks over the summer and then was forgotten until the next year, when it bloomed again. Only one year, I think when they were fifteen, everything was different. That was the year Sidney fell in love with her.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, hoping Mr Parker would not notice the blush on her cheeks. 

“It was very sweet. Calfs love, we believed. Finished once the summer was over. But oh, how we were wrong. He messaged and mailed and phoned, and visited over long weekends, and that’s how it developed.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, slightly breathless. Sidney Parker, in love with a real person that was not called Aston Martin? She must have been the most fascinating creature in the world, this Eliza. 

“They finished school in the same year and then went to Cambridge together. Perfect happiness, that’s what everyone expected.”

“But?” There had to be a But.

“Well, the first blow was, of course, when our father died.” Mr Parker looked down. “I had just been married, Jenny was on her way, and our father had a heart attack one morning in the lobby and dropped dead on the spot.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered. Mary had told her the story. Her father-in-law was only fifty-six years old when he had died, an outwardly healthy man who worked twelve hours every day. It was her worst fear that Tom shared his father’s fate.

“It was a blow. I had to take over the running of the hotel from one moment to another. Arthur was still in school, Diana in training, and Sidney… He would have dropped everything in Cambridge and come back to Sanditon to chop onions in the kitchen, had I asked it of him, but I wanted him to have his education. My brilliant little brother … I wanted him to make use of his talents, to leave his mark on the world and find a different path from what family history dictated.” Mr Parker gazed out of the window again as if searching for that little brother out there. Charlotte thought that regardless as to what that Eliza-part of the story would come to, she was quite touched by the rest of it. 

“And it all seemed to work out well. Sidney was an excellent student, expected to have a career in banking in the City or anywhere in the world, he had the loveliest girlfriend, planned to marry her and start a family, once he was settled, and then…” Mr Parker stopped, looking down, shaking his head in sorrow. 

Several scenarios ran through Charlotte’s head, one more tragic than the other.

The lovely Eliza, run over by a motorcycle.

The lovely Eliza, succumbing to a deathly illness.

The lovely Eliza, dying in a natural disaster, a plane crash or from a poisonous snakebite during a romantic holiday in an exotic country.

The lovely Eliza, leaving Sidney Parker alone and so heartbroken that he had to cauterise all emotions until his only love was for a car.

“… then the _affair_ happened,” Mr Parker took up his tale again.

“The _affair_?” Had she betrayed him? Or had he betrayed her?

“We called it the _affai_ r, though, strictly speaking, it wasn’t an affair. The _affair_ was kind of a codeword for Mary, Diana, Arthur and me. It is until today, though the topic is coming up less frequently now.”

“I see,” Charlotte said, though she did not. Someone had had an affair that was not an affair?

“She was a beautiful girl – still is, probably – and had always made a little money on the side with modelling jobs. Nothing grand, but enough to provide her with a contact here and there. We all believed she wanted to go into marketing or designing, but one day, she decided to apply for one of these reality shows – it was a whim, someone from the casting company saw her at a shooting and suggested she tried her luck, and she did, and she was accepted. And that,” Mr Parker leaned back, “was when the trouble started.”

“I’m not that much into reality TV,” Charlotte admitted.

“And that’s a good thing, my dear. It’s a terrible business. Terrible. Destroyed Sidney’s life.”

“How so?”

“Well, you know, Eliza applied for a show called The Millionaire’s Bride. One of these shows that are more of a meat inspection than decent family entertainment, with a hoard of beautiful ladies flocking around one rich man.”

“Why would she take part in such a show?” Charlotte’s image of the lovely Eliza was receiving a substantial blow. 

“Oh, one of the oldest sins of mankind. – Vanity, my dear. _It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. –_ Not sure who said that. Dickens, probably _.-_ Maybe she believed the show would forward her career in marketing. Or designing. Or whatever. Or she panicked because with the end of Sidney’s studies, the prospect of settling down, moving into a house in the suburbs and becoming Mrs Parker and the mother of more Parker babies drew closer. – However, she joined the show. Filming was done on some exotic island, they were given an allowance for shopping, they had stylists for hair and make-up, they had an opportunity to boost their social media accounts – and one of them, of course, had the chance to become the Millionaire’s Bride.”

“But… wasn’t Eliza Sidney’s bride?”

“That was exactly the point, my dear. She had to be single to join the millionaire’s brides. So she dumped Sidney and flew off to… I can’t even remember the name right now, somewhere in the Caribbean. – Anyway. She dumped Sidney.”

“She dumped Sidney because she wanted to take part in a reality TV show?” Charlotte had to make sure that she had that right.

“Yes. She didn’t win, though. But she finished second, and that was enough to join the C-list celebrities for a while. She lost no time, met an American millionaire, married him and moved with him to LA. The marriage didn’t last, though – she’s divorced now, but… who cares. We’ll never see her again.”

“I don’t wish to judge, but… that sounds as if she was a very shallow person, even before… _the affair_ ,” Charlotte said. Mr Parker shrugged his shoulders.

“People change. Maybe her beauty hid some of the shallow parts. Maybe my brother’s love made her a better person and covered her character’s deficiencies.” This was about the most sensible thing Mr Parker had ever said in Charlotte’s presence. “What I can say for sure is that Sidney’s heart was broken and his whole world undone when she left him.”

“Understandably so,” Charlotte said, remembering his words for Gigi from the previous night. And this was the man she had accused of being insensible of feeling!

Mr Parker sighed. “He went down a very dark path. Missed deadlines and exams, took to false friends and strong drinks, and ultimately... There was a case of drug abuse. That’s when I stepped in. Brought him to the hotel and made him peel potatoes and chop onions from early morning to late night. Not that he was very efficient, and chef really hated me for it, but Sidney was occupied and under supervision. And one day, between potato peeling, onion chopping and being yelled at by chef, he stumbled across George Lambe, who was sampling our golf course at the time with his then-wife. Now Mr Lambe is terribly short-sighted and not much use on the golf course, but he does recognise a good banker when he sees one, and he took Sidney under his wing. Made him his intern and taught him all he knew about the finance business. Mentored him. Found his first clients for him. Practically saved his life.”

“I didn’t know that,” Charlotte said, feeling flustered. This explained so much, including the question why Mr Parker would not think twice about charging Gigi’s father for her prolonged stay in the Denham Suite. She felt close to tears now. How little understanding she had indeed, how young and inexperienced she was! 

“But what ultimately gave Sidney’s life sense and direction was the Aston Martin, of course,” Mr Parker said. “He saw it during one of the high society events Mr Lambe used to take him to. Saw it, fell in love with it and swore he would work until it was his own. – And now it is.”

Charlotte closed her eyes in humiliation. 

_What is he trying to compensate with that silly old car?_

How easily she had fallen for Otis’s manipulative words. It was a miracle Sidney had ever allowed her to come close to that car, let alone drive her in it to London.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you these things,” Mr Parker said. “But… you are so fast becoming a part of our hotel family, my dear, and I would really like to see you get on better with Sidney.”

“Thank you for sharing all this with me,” Charlotte said. “I shall not disappoint your trust in me. I… I think I should look after Gigi now.”

“Yes, of course. As a true friend in times of need.” Mr Parker smiled at her and got his phone out, his mind already occupied with the next scheme, Sidney’s story half-forgotten.

Gigi was awake, but despondent and still in bed: staring empty-faced at the wall, silent tears running down her cheeks. Charlotte could do nothing but sit down with her, take her hands and show her that she cared while she tried to keep her own sorrows at bay. After half an hour or so, Gigi murmured that she wanted to have a shower now, and when she closed the bathroom door behind her, Charlotte returned to the breakfast table. 

Mr Parker was no longer alone with his coffee cup. His brother was with him, just finishing a phone call. “Yes… I’ll send you all the details. As I said, the main point is whether she’ll be charged here or extradited to the States. – Yes. Thanks, John. Now I’m the one owing you a favour… not for that, no. And give my regards to Jane and Hetty.” He rang off. 

“Was that John _Mathews_ you were talking to?” Mr Parker said, curiously large-eyed. “I had no idea you were still in touch with each other.” Charlotte was curious too: Was that the same John Mathews she had been talking to about an outstanding bill for his daughter’s wedding? 

“Yes,” Sidney said. “He’s a lawyer, after all, and he has contacts in the States, so I thought he might be able to do something for Otis. – Good morning, Miss Heywood. How is Gigi?”

“Not well. She’s having a shower now.”

“One step after another.” He sat down and helped himself to coffee and cold toast.

“I… what about your car?” Charlotte asked. “I feel bad for leaving it in that no-parking zone overnight.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow. “You are concerned about my car, Miss Heywood?”

“Yes, it’s…” She felt her cheeks go red. What the hell was she talking about? “It’s a beautiful car. And I understand that it is very precious to you.”

“Well then,” he said, visibly surprised. “Rest assured, it’s safe now. The neighbours in Sydney Walk were not very vigilant last night, and Mrs Siddaway has been true to her word. I’ve just come back from retrieving it.”

“Good,” Charlotte said. Fortunately, the doorbell rang, and with a curt nod to her, Sidney left to answer it, only to return a few moments later with Babington in tow. 

“Good morning, Tom… - Charlotte. What a pleasant surprise.” Babington was all smiles and good mood. Charlotte wondered whether Esther had finally given him her phone number. He took a seat and, provided with coffee, explained about his mission. “I’ve asked around a bit and pulled some strings, and what can I tell you… you’ll have the opportunity to promote the Sanditon golf course and the Regency Row apartments tonight at the premiere party of _Mrs Maudsley and the Masked Murderer_. It’s held at the Regency Excelsior Hotel, and we are promised to meet everyone who is someone in the British film industry.”

“My dear Babington.” Mr Parker shook his head in admiration. “You are a wonder indeed, and if Esther doesn’t see it, I will order her to go out with you. Make it part of her working hours, if necessary.”

Babington laughed. “She has finally given me her phone number, so I am more hopeful than ever before. But thank you for the offer. – You must come as well tonight, Charlotte. It’s a murder mystery movie set in a country house in 1926. We are not invited to the film premiere, but the party is themed for the Twenties as well. Think of what you can post on Instagram!”

“Thank you, but I really don’t want to leave Gigi alone.”

“Oh, I’ll ask dear Gussie Griffiths to come up to London and look after the poor girl,” Mr Parker said. “Really Charlotte, you deserve some fun after last night. And finally, an event where I cannot make you carry trays with champagne glasses until you have blisters on your feet.” He winked and laughed, but Charlotte did not join in.

“I would have to go barefoot anyway, Mr Parker. I have absolutely nothing here to wear for such an occasion. In fact, I’m borrowing your wife’s clothes right now.”

“And you are more them welcome to borrow them, my dear. - Sidney, do you remember the chest we prepared with all the clothes meant for the Sanditon museum? There were some beautiful evening gowns from generations of Parker ladies, but in the end, the museum did not have enough space to display them. They were more interested in sensational stuff like giant sea serpents. - I’ll have a look for them in the attic.” Charlotte saw Sidney nod and glance expectantly at her. 

“That is very kind of you, Mr Parker, but I’m really not in a mood to be sociable. Please excuse me.”

*

After another coffee, Sidney saw his friend to the door, thanking him profoundly for his efforts. “Never mind, Sidney,” Babington said. “After all that champagne we have taken from your brother’s stocks, that was the least I could do. See you tonight.”

Sidney did not return immediately to Tom. He looked in on Gigi first, and, finding her asleep, went on to search for Charlotte. He found her in the kitchen, perched on a stool, with one leg pulled up and her chin resting on her knee, her eyes gazing at the rack of cooking tools but most probably not seeing any of them. She half-turned her back on him, unaware of him watching her. 

He stayed in the doorway, allowing himself a small smile. Her concern about that _silly, old car_ had amused and surprised him. Had she really come to understand what the Aston Martin meant to him? Was that her way of saying _I’m sorry_? 

She did not have to apologise, though. After last night, he was prepared to forgive her everything and anything. She was right. If only he had been more honest with her about Gigi and Otis.

At the breakfast table, she had looked so young and innocent in Mary’s oversized clothes. She _was_ young. Only twenty-one, far away from her family or any friends, thrown into the Parker madness of events. Trying to keep her integrity. Trying to be a friend to the troubled, neglected child of a millionaire. Trying to hold his brother’s failing hotel business together.

When he was twenty-one, heartbroken, desperate and on a promising path of self-destruction, he had been saved first by his elder brother and then by George Lambe. 

In George Lambe, he had found a father figure, a mentor and role model, someone to guide him through the world of finance, to support his first steps, to lead him back onto track when he took a wrong turn. Never had George reproached him or openly criticised him, never had he raised his voice or accused him of his young age and lack of experience. They had discussed his defeats and celebrated his victories. Two years ago, after collecting the Aston Martin from the vintage car dealer, he had driven straight to his mentor’s office and taken him for a victory lap around the countryside.

For Charlotte Heywood, there was no such friend in Sanditon. 

There was a besotted architect who admired her every move. There was a grumpy old lady prone to prejudice and bigotry. There was a hotelier too busy saving his business to note his trainee’s needs, and there was the hotelier’s wife, stuck with a frantic husband and four children under ten, grateful for anyone voluntarily picking these children up from school or taking them to the beach. 

But there was no one to help Charlotte navigate her way through Sanditon’s muddy waters. Admiral Heywood had had to do that all by herself: the rocky parts, the mist and the sunshine. And yet she had never complained, but simply sailed on. Even when he, Sidney Parker, confronted her in one battle after another.

He had done nothing to help her. On the contrary, he had only made life more difficult for her.

_Where have you been? Nowhere, apparently, except for school._

_What have you learnt there? Nothing, it would seem_

He had failed her even more miserably than the rest of his family, for he was the one who should have known better.

For a second, he considered walking over to her and simply taking her into his arms. 

No. Not the right time and not the right place, with Tom next door and Gigi heartbroken in her bed. He cleared his throat. She turned around immediately. 

“Mr Parker.”

He tried a smile. It came out a bit crooked. “Tom… ahem, Tom suggested I try to make you reconsider. – The party tonight,” he added.

“Why did you arrange a lawyer for Otis?” she asked slightly out of context. So that was what had been on her mind. He cleared his throat again.

“I came to the realisation that Otis ran a high risk when she went to London with Gigi. So, however strong my misgivings are, and however misguided I believe Gigi is, I better accept that they are in love with each other. And what can I do as a foster father if not support the person my foster child is in love with?”

She had to digest this. He saw her biting her lip and closing her eyes as she was thinking, opening them again and unconsciously rubbing that sweet little dimple in her chin with her index finger. “I owe you an apology,” she finally said. 

“No,” he said, taking a step closer to her and searching her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything, Miss Heywood. It is I who should apologise.”

“But…”

“I’ve done you a great discourtesy. All Parkers, in fact. I’ll speak for my whole family. We have taken advantage of you.”

“No, you haven’t. I love Sanditon, and the hotel – I love every minute there.”

“We both know that there were several occasions during which your stay was not that enjoyable,” Sidney said, and as he saw her blush: “I apologise for those as well.”

She looked down on her feet, blushing even more, but when she looked up again, a small sparkle of mischief had returned to her eyes. “Will you stop apologising if I say that I come to the party tonight?”

“I will.”

“Well then.”

“Well then,” he replied, unable to hide his delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. – Dickens, probably.” – Austen, more like.
> 
> In the next chapter, we will encounter a personage that will help us solve “The Mystery of her Misery”.


	20. The Mystery of her Misery

Charlotte spent an odd day with phone calls to Sanditon, with explanations and exclamations, with a quick visit to the local Boots to get some supplies for the evening and many hours sitting by Gigi’s bedside. When Mrs Griffiths arrived in the afternoon to take over that care, Gigi was still neither talking nor eating. Charlotte felt deeply for her friend, and yet, she was relieved to hand the responsibility over to Mrs Griffiths. Now she could spend the rest of the afternoon with the more agreeable question of what to wear to a premiere party where half of the British film industry was expected.

What she finally found in the Parker family's attic was a tight-fitting metallic gold sequin-embellished long dress with spaghetti straps and a round neck. The slick material made her feel oddly conscious of her body which suddenly seemed to possess curves she had never noticed before. It was a strange yet powerful and delicious feeling. She rolled her hair up and tied it at the back of her head to a mock bob, a reference to the Twenties theme of the evening, and topped it all with a black hairband and a white ostrich feather from the family’s wardrobe collection.

“Charlotte, my dear,” she heard Mr Parker call as she applied some lipstick. “We are waiting downstairs.”

“Just a minute,” she replied, wondering who that seductive creature was that regarded her from the mirror. She did not look like herself. For a second, she considered wiping the lipstick off and changing back into Mary’s blouse and skirt. Then she remembered why she was dressing up like this: to promote the cause of the Sanditon Grand Hotel to the who is who of the British film industry. 

She called good night to Gigi, closed the apartment door behind her and turned to the stairs. Tom and Sidney were waiting down in the twilight of the entrance hall, both looking slick and dapper in their black ties. Sidney raised his head as Charlotte appeared on the stairs, causing her heart to beat a little faster. “Does it not suit me?” she asked in a moment of doubt. “Will it not do?”

He gave her a small smile. “It will do very well,” he quietly said, the smile remaining in his eyes as he accompanied her outside, helped her into the waiting cab and took the seat facing her. 

Charlotte found it difficult to meet Sidney’s gaze during the taxi ride and therefore stared out of the window at the London streets and landmarks. Only very occasionally did she turn her head, noticing that he was still looking at her, that tiny little smile remaining in his eyes, while his brother happily prattled away about all the apartments and golf club memberships he was expecting to sell within the next few hours. 

The Regency Excelsior Hotel, a stunning Art Déco building on the bank of the Thames with a good view of the London Eye, was buzzing with exquisitely dressed people apparently knowing exactly what to do at a premiere party. Charlotte, who had absolutely no idea at all, was very grateful for the fact that Sidney Parker, after helping her out of the cab, simply took her hand and placed it firmly on his arm, as if that was exactly where it belonged. 

Tom followed them in, greeting to the left and to the right, pretending to know everyone and everything, and smiling into the cameras around him on the red carpet. “Upon my word, Sidney: we are surrounded by the most influential people of the British film industry.”

“I don’t know anyone,” Charlotte whispered. 

“Neither do I,” Sidney whispered back. “The secret is clearly to make everyone else believe that you are influential.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. I feel terribly out of place.”

“But you are not.” He patted her hand on his arm and gave her an encouraging smile.

“The brothers Parker!” Out of the crowd, Crowe appeared, followed by Babington. “Sidney! You sly creature – who is this beautiful bird?”

“That’s Charlotte Heywood, you idiot,” Babington said. “You keep liking her Instagram posts for the hotel.”

“Little Charlotte,” Crowe said, not taken back at all. “I would not have known you. That feather makes you look taller. Let’s take a picture, shall we?” He fumbled his phone out, and Sidney released Charlotte for the photo op.

Tom, who had been busy talking to people who did not talk back, finally joined them. “Gentlemen, we must all remember why we are here. Spread the word of the open-day, sell memberships of the golf club and apartments on Regency Row. I expect every man to do their duty.”

“And every woman.” Crowe raised his champagne glass. “Admiral Heywood.” He drained his glass in one go, handed it over to the next waiter and vanished into the crowd, followed by Tom Parker and Babington, leaving Charlotte and Sidney alone with each other.

“Why does he call me Admiral Heywood?” Charlotte asked. Sidney shrugged his shoulders.

“Must have heard it at the cricket,” he mumbled.

She wondered what else he might have shared with his friends. Certain encounters were better slipped under the red carpet.

Someone tugged her by the elbow. “ ’scuse me? You’re that actress, aren’t you? I’m a great fan. Can we take a selfie?”

It was one of the waiters carrying trays of champagne glasses around. Apparently, the Regency Excelsior Hotel had an even bigger problem with temps than the Sanditon Grand Hotel, for his behaviour was extremely unprofessional. And apart from that: “I’m not an actress,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry.”

“But I’m sure I saw you in GoT. You are the girl that died, aren’t you?”

“I’m very much alive,” Charlotte assured him. “I would certainly remember the experience.”

“Right,” the waiter said, turning to Sidney. “But you’re famous. I’ve seen your face before.”

“Sorry. Only famous for parking in the no-parking zone.” There was a bit of mischief in Sidney’s smile, and as always, Charlotte could not help but be amazed at how young and boyish he sometimes looked. Handsome he was always, and even when he was angry, but the smile on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes made her long to _explore a distant country_ … - oh no. Not again. Not amidst a crowd of famous people. 

The waiter had not given up yet on Sidney. “You were in Downton Abbey, weren’t you? I could swear I saw your face there.”

Sidney shook his head. “I’ve never come close to that place. Sorry, mate.” The waiter still was not ready to yield. 

“The thing is, I feel I have it in me to become an actor myself, and I was hoping for a bit of advice on how to start a career.”

“Then I suggest you spend less time watching series and more time learning how to act,” Charlotte said. The waiter beamed at her. 

“Great. Thanks. I’ll mention you in my Oscar speech. What was your name again?”

“Charlotte,” Sidney said. “Her name is Charlotte.” – and hearing him say her name for the first time confounded her much, much more than being mistaken for a famous actress.

“Best of luck with your next project then, Charlotte,” the waiter said and vanished into the crowd. Sidney turned to her, still amused. “Aren’t you glad you came, after all?”

She shook her head, making the ostrich feather bob up and down. “I cannot say that I am. I feel dreadful for leaving Gigi, and I’m absolutely certain now that I don’t belong in this company.”

“Gigi is in good hands, and you have every right to go out and have some fun for once. But apart from that, I’m not sure I belong here either.”

“But this is your natural habitat, is it not?” Where if not here, in a throng of wealthy people, several of which were probably in need of a competent financial adviser? But for some reason, Sidney’s mood had changed. He no longer smiled, and he no longer looked boyish. Instead, he appeared rather pensive, apparently searching for some answers on the ground of his champagne glass.

“Perhaps I don’t truly belong anywhere. As you said, perhaps I’m an outlier.” Did he take notes, so that he could remember everything she said? When he saw her puzzled look, he quickly added: “Let’s find out whether we can advance some more acting careers, shall we?” and offered her his arm.

They pushed through a cluster of people greeting each other by kissing the air above their cheeks, cheering and toasting and taking group selfies. Somewhere in the crowd, Charlotte saw Tom Parker, evidently describing the charms of the Sanditon Grand Hotel to a group of people that was ignoring him. It pained her to see him so desperate, and herself so unable to do anything about it, for if these people were not listening to him, how would they listen to her?

“I cannot see how any conversation is possible when the room is so loud, and everyone is on the move,” she said to Sidney.

“No one is here to make conversation. They are here to be seen. They take a selfie, ideally with someone more famous than themselves, post it on Instagram, and let everyone know how popular and important they are. Then they collect their gift bag and move on to the next party.” Charlotte, who thought she was popular enough with her friends and important enough to her family, even without a gift bag and a selfie with a Hollywood star, shook her head. 

“I don’t know anyone here, I don’t wish to take selfies with people I don’t know, and I think I would like to leave now if that’s alright for you.”

“Since when do you require my approval, Miss Heywood?” So it was still Miss Heywood, not Charlotte. The man was a conundrum come to life. And his eyes were searching her face so intently that she hardly knew where to look.

“I know I’m too headstrong… too opinionated…,” she started.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not _too_ anything. Don’t doubt yourself.” He looked around, at the people passing them. “You’re more than equal to any woman here.” Charlotte opened her mouth, unable to think of a reply, but sure that there had to be one. Fortunately, Babington was walking past right now and slumped into a free chair next to them. “I hate to admit defeat, but the word Sanditon seems to be falling on deaf ears.”

“Thank you for your efforts anyway, Babington,” Sidney said, taking his eyes off Charlotte. 

Somewhere in the crowd, Tom’s sleek redhead appeared. “Sidney! Sidney, come over here, you must listen to this!”

“I’m off then,” Sidney said with a curt nod to Charlotte and his friend. She watched him go, unable to tell if she was relieved to be freed of his confounding presence, or whether she regretted to see him leave her.

“Charlotte?” Babington saying her name brought her back to reality. “I’m sorry, you seemed miles away in your thoughts.”

“No, I’m… I was just… I was just thinking of how Esther has changed her attitude towards you. She has given you her phone number, hasn’t she?”

“Yes. However, she has yet to answer my first message.”

“I’m sure she’ll do in time.” She sat down by his side, smiling encouragingly.

“A text message? How long does it take to answer that?”

“I would say that depends on the text,” Charlotte suggested.

_Wi$**,’’’’’._

More than a week, perhaps?

“It basically said _Good morning Esther, have a beautiful day today_.”

“Then she probably only read it in the afternoon and thought it was too late to answer then.” 

“Probably. – You see her every day, Charlotte. Do you think her feelings can change entirely during the space of one night?”

“I believe she’s…” Charlotte stopped. On the other side of the room, Tom and Sidney were released from a group of people. Sidney quickly glanced over to her. Changed feelings? During the space of one night _?_

“… she’s…”

Within just a few moments, he would be by her side again.

“… she’s…” she said once more, faltered and gave up entirely. “I’m sorry, but… this room is really too hot. I can hardly breathe.”

Babington said something, but she did not listen: she had already fled the stage, a strange hum in her ears, and her cheeks burning.

Why, oh why had she agreed to come here? This was quickly turning into the most miserable night of her life, which was quite alarming, considering that the other most miserable night of her life had just occurred the night before. 

It was Sidney Parker’s fault, of course. She knew him what… a little more than a month now? And he was responsible for a most miserable night after the Spring Ball, and another most miserable night after the… the… encounter at the cove, and, of course, one more most miserable night after the shout down on the station square. In short, he was responsible for most of the misery in Charlotte’s life right now. Then why – why –

She found a bright, alcove like room off the main guest area with a full-length window that stood open, ventilating the air with a fresh breeze. Standing in front of the window, she breathed in deeply, then breathed out, trying to let all her sorrows and doubts go. 

“My sentiments exactly,” a warm voice behind her said. Charlotte flew around. Sitting in a corner behind her was a beautiful dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties, regarding her with a mix of interest and amusement. Judging by her makeup and her dress, she was a guest at the premiere party as well. However, she appeared to be much more interested in the magazine on her lap than in collecting gift bags and taking selfies.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “I thought I was alone.”

“That’s quite all right. I cannot blame you for seeking a safe harbour. It was an unspeakably tedious film, and now it’s an unspeakably tedious party.” Again, there was a glint of amusement in her dark eyes. “And next you’re going to tell me that the film is your acting debut or that the director is your father and that I have just committed a terrible solecism.” Her droll way of speaking made Charlotte laugh. 

“No. I haven’t seen the film, and I don’t know the director… or anyone in London at all, apart from an intrusive waiter and two enemy hotel owners. And from what I’ve seen of the place, I don’t care for further acquaintances.” 

The woman, who might very well have counted as a further acquaintance, ignored the slight and with another smile asked: “If you dislike London so much, why are you here?”

Charlotte came a little closer. “My friend Gigi… she’s underage, and she ran away to London with her girlfriend. It was all my fault. So I decided to follow her.”

“Gracious! And did you find her?”

“Yes. Eventually: yes, but…- ” Charlotte thought of the previous night, of the fright she had felt when seeing the police cars and the ambulances (two ambulances!) in front of Sam Siddaway’s hotel, and of Gigi’s tears and desperation. “My friend’s father is a millionaire, and it turned out that her lover was a criminal, an impostor from Interpol’s wanted list, with charges against her here and in the States.”

“How simply shocking!” the woman said – though judging by the expression on her face, she was more thrilled than shocked.

“It was,” Charlotte agreed. “But the police found Gigi in time, and now she is safe. However, Mr Parker insisted we come here tonight and spread the word of the golf course and Regency Row for the open-day, but as you can see… I’m singularly failing at that task.”

“Regency Row?” 

“That’s the new extension of his hotel. The Sanditon Grand Hotel. It’s been in Mr Parker’s family for one hundred fifty years, and it’s the most magical place on earth, but he’s struggling to attract guests because of the English weather and the low-cost-flights to the Mediterranean. – I’m sorry,” she said, realising that she was not talking coherently. “I know I’m inclined to talk too much, Mrs…?”

“Susan,” her new companion said with a smile and invited her to sit on the sofa by her side. “And who might you be?”

“Charlotte Heywood.”

“Forgive me being so open, Charlotte, but you do seem somewhat… befuddled.”

Befuddled? Charlotte thought. Yes, this lady called Susan was right: That was just the word to describe her state of mind. “I do believe I am. It has been a miserable night after a miserable day and another miserable night, and…”

Susan leaned forward. “And what?”

Charlotte closed her eyes for a second. The woman was a complete stranger, after all. But given the matter at hand: Was there any better judge than a neutral stranger? She opened her eyes again.

“There is a certain… a certain man. Mr Parker’s younger brother. Sidney. Sidney Parker.” How nice it was to say his name out loud. Susan nodded as if she already knew what would be coming next. Charlotte continued, as bravely as she could. “He inspires an anger in me I did not know I possessed. And yet… I find that his good opinion on me matters more than anybody else’s. How can that be?”

Susan gave her an indulgent smile. “It sounds to me as if you are in love with him,” she quietly said.

“What?” Charlotte jumped up from the sofa. “No. I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth.” Which was precisely why she was having this odd conversation with a complete stranger: because it could not be true. “I’ve been in love before, and never with a man like him.”

“My dear girl.” Susan’s smile was even more indulgent now. “You cannot determine who you fall in love with. It’s an affliction, like the measles.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to say that the measles could not afflict her because she had been vaccinated. Neither could Sidney Parker because she was a sensible young woman, and he nothing but a self-centred, prejudiced, unreliable idiot with more feelings for his car than for any human being.

A gorgeous car, though. And a gorgeous man. Who made her doubt herself time and again, only to encourage her in the moments she least expected it. He vexed her and he fascinated her, all in the same degree. He troubled her when he was around, but he troubled her even more when he was not around. He was a strange and distant country, indeed.

Charlotte closed her mouth again. There was no use in keeping up the pretence, for it was true: She was in love with Sidney Parker.

*

“She vanished all of a sudden,” Babington told Sidney. “Said she could not breathe.”

“I’ll look for her,” Sidney said. “Just to make sure she is alright.”

“Good luck.” Babington stood up and moved towards the bar, ready to drain his sorrows about Esther in a drink. 

Sidney looked around. If Charlotte could not breathe, she would certainly move towards somewhere airier… the exit? But no, she would not leave without letting him know. Or would she?

He smiled to himself as he scanned the people around him for a girl in a gold dress with an ostrich feather in her hair. There were enough beautiful women to fill several pages of a glossy magazine, but not one of them was Charlotte Heywood. Charlotte Heywood, who in her innocence had no idea how stunning she looked in that shimmering dress that hugged every single curve of her lovely body, and who also had no idea how much that innocence added to her beauty. 

_Nerd, prim, babysitter._

If she was thinking of him as an unreliable, superficial idiot with a poor sense of judgement, she was entirely right.

A cold gush of air woke Sidney from his reverie. The windows. She must have moved somewhere towards the windows. He left the main guest area and found a brightly lit, alcove like room with full-length windows. And there she was: Charlotte Heywood, a shimmering golden siren, in conversation with another dark-haired, somewhat familiar woman. 

“I’m glad I found you,” he said, unable to hide his relief. “I was beginning to fear you had made your escape.” Charlotte jumped when she heard his voice. Her new friend glanced at him, looking very pleased.

“I presume you are Sidney Parker? We were just discussing you.” Were they? He saw Charlotte inspecting the tips of her shoes as her cheeks turned to a crimson colour. He felt himself blush as well. Who was this woman, and what had Charlotte been discussing with her? Hopefully not the _nerd, prim, babysitter_ part of their acquaintance?

“Well,” he said, returning to his natural poise and speaking to Charlotte. “I was wondering whether you might like to dance. You never had the chance at the Spring Ball, so… unless I’m interrupting, that is.”

“Not in the least,” the woman smoothly said, opening the magazine on her lap. “I think we have just come to the conclusion of our conversation, haven’t we, Charlotte?”

“Yes,” Charlotte mumbled, not meeting his gaze but waving a shy good-bye to her acquaintance.

What exactly _had_ they been discussing? He took Charlotte’s hand and gently enfolded her fingers in his grip, determined to release them only if absolutely necessary.

“I had no idea you have friends in London,” he said, leading her back to the event area.

“We only just met at the party. We were discussing… illnesses.”

“I see,” Sidney said, though he did not. Illnesses? What did that have to do with him? “Does she have a name? There was something familiar about her, don’t you think?”

“Her name is Susan. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her before. But then on the other hand, with everyone dressed up like that – my own family would think me a stranger.”

“I’m sure they would be very proud of you.” In any case, Sidney felt oddly proud to have this sweet siren by his side.

“We are more of the rubber boots faction at home,” the sweet siren said and cast a doubtful glance at the crowd accumulating on the dance floor. Tom was among them, and Crowe. “You did not have to ask me to dance, you know,” she added.

“Why not? I think you deserve a bit of fun. Unless you’d rather not.”

“No, it’s…” She shook her head and made at least the ostrich feather dance. “There are so many other women here you could ask.”

“I could.” Sidney gazed around, seeing lots of beautiful women, but as not one of them was Charlotte Heywood, he returned his smile to her. “I just don’t want to dance with _them_ ,” he softly said.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again and quietly accepted her fate as he led her onto the dance floor.

*

The band had been playing music from the Twenties and Thirties but switched to more modern tunes now. The next piece they offered was an orchestrated version of The Verve’s Bittersweet Symphony– a choice that made Charlotte look to Sidney for guidance.

He simply raised her right hand with his left, rested his other hand on her back and pulled her to his chest, making her gasp as she automatically put her left hand on his shoulder. Never had they been so close, never had she touched him like this, never felt his breath on her cheek and taken in his warm scent. It made her feel dizzy and alive at the same time – and in any case completely unable to concentrate on what her feet were supposed to be doing. When she looked up to him, she dived into the most startling dark and gentle gaze.

Fortunately, there was his hand on her back that kept her upright as he smoothly moved her across the dance floor. Suddenly, the tune changed to a violin solo. Sidney twisted Charlotte into a pirouette, turning her around again and again. She felt as if they were both spiralling out of the past, leaving everything behind that had happened between them, spinning towards a happier future together.

Sidney pulled her back to himself, smiling broadly now. She was oblivious to the room and the onlookers, even to the heat and the other couples on the dance floor. There was only one person left in her world, and that was Sidney Parker, moving with her, releasing her, then drawing her back to him, smiling as happily as she had never seen him smile before, smiling his most beautiful smile for her.

It took her a few moments to realise that the music had in fact ended and that they were standing in the middle of the dance floor now, not moving, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes, reading the questions they found there, yet still unable to express their answers.

“There you are!” Tom Parker’s shadow fell over them as his hand came crashing down on Sidney’s shoulder, making him start and wake Charlotte from the most beautiful dream she had ever had. “Sidney! Have you seen who’s here?”

The spell was broken. Sidney let go of Charlotte’s hands and took a step back. He looked positively befuddled. “Sorry, Tom – you were saying?”

“You haven’t seen her then?” Tom nodded at a group of onlookers. Charlotte saw Sidney follow his gaze, and she saw his face change. Clearly surprise, then disbelief, but also pain, and then again: disbelief. “Excuse me,” he murmured. Drawn like a sleepwalker he moved across the dance floor towards a blonde woman wearing an elegant white robe and a lipstick the colour of blood. The woman was welcoming Sidney with a smile that suggested he was the human version of the lottery jackpot.

“Who is that?” Charlotte gasped.

“Just another proof of the fickleness of fate,” Tom Parker said. “The girl I told you about this morning. Sidney’s lost love. – Seems fate is gifting them with a second chance.” He shook his head in amusement. “A society wedding at the hotel – and my own brother the groom! That would be a marketing prospect!”

“Yes,” Charlotte breathed. Sidney was taking the women’s hand now, but she obviously had her own ideas about an appropriate reunion and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Where had she seen that lipstick before? And those large blue eyes?

“A handsome couple, even after all these years.” Tom Parker clapped his hands. “I say, this evening turns into quite a success. – What about you, Charlotte? You look a bit pale.”

“Oh, it’s… just the exertion of the dance.”

The woman in white reluctantly released Sidney from her embrace. He took a step back and continued staring her in disbelief, and she, holding his hands in hers and fluttering her false eyelashes, stared back admiringly. Which was when Charlotte finally recognised her.

She had seen pictures of her before.

She was the influencer and reality TV personality who liked the hotel’s Instagram posts and commented on Arthur’s meringue swans. The one promoting ugly handbags, hair-extensions and home accessories to her five-hundred thousand followers.

mrscampion.

Sidney’s Eliza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to include Bittersweet Symphony, just for the title of it (and for some bittersweet memories). This is the version I was listening to during writing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_UfPY8NXkM 
> 
> In the next chapter, the people of Sanditon will have to face “An Invasion”.


	21. The Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you for your comments - and for your feedback on Facebook which left me quite overwhelmed. You may call me silly but I think it's good to know that despite all our differences in who we are and where we come from, we can all agree on the fact that Charlotte Heywood is a great heroine, Sidney Parker a handsome man and Sanditon in need of a second season.  
> Sorry, it was a rather emotional day today. I'll shut up now and let Charlotte finish her work.

Incidentally, Charlotte was spared the experience of a ride on the motorway with Tom Parker in the driver’s seat. 

Mr Parker stayed behind in London to follow up some promising contacts he believed he had made at the party, and Gigi stayed in London with Mrs Griffiths because the police wanted to question her further about Otis Molyneux. Sidney stayed in London as well because he felt he had to be where his foster child was, and that was that. 

Charlotte did not see much of him in the morning before she left for Victoria Station to catch her train to Sanditon, and what she saw of him was mostly a face in a coffee mug. It must have been a very late night for him, judging by the rings under his eyes. He did not look exactly elated or particularly happy, but simply tired, and he did not comment on his reunion with mrscampion. Charlotte was careful now with premature judgement, though. Whoever knew what else had happened at the party – she did not, for she had returned to Bedford Place soon after Sidney Parker and mrscampion had vanished into the crowd.

Sitting now in the half-empty train and gazing out of the window at the never-ending London suburbs, she found it hard to believe that the past forty-eight hours had actually happened. The excitement of the cricket match, the frantic rush to London, the search for Gigi, the dramatic showdown at Sam Siddaway’s hotel, the reckonings of the next day, the golden dress, the conversation with Susan, the dance. 

The dance. And the one conundrum that was occupying her mind: What would have happened if mrscampion had not appeared, stealing Sidney Parker’s attention away? This question proved to be an as endless loop as the London suburbs, only interrupted by Charlotte’s phone buzzing with a new message.

 _Thought you might like this,_ an unknown number said, sending her a picture _._ Better ignore that, she thought, when a second message from the same number buzzed in: _Sorry. Sidney gave me your number. This is me. Crowe._ Like Babington, he really seemed to go by no other name, poor man. 

The picture was of a beautiful woman wearing a stunning gold dress and an ostrich feather in her dark hair. She was not looking at the camera, though, but up to the tall man by her side. He was equally handsome and gazing down on her with an indulgent smile. Looking at me, Charlotte thought, feeling her knees go a little wobbly when she remembered that gentle dark gaze. He had never looked like that at mrscampion – at least not during the few seconds she had seen them together. 

_Thank you,_ she typed to Crowe, and then, in a brief moment of vanity, she cut Sidney from the picture and sent what remained of it to her family: _Went to London and met a doppelganger_.

She did not have to wait for too long for the replies to come in.

_Mum: You look beautiful. So proud of you. Hope you didn’t get blisters from your shoes. If you did, try tea tree oil or Epsom Salt._

_Dan: Where’s my rubber boots sister, and will I ever get her back?_

_Joe: Why are you wearing a bird on your head, Char?_

_Alison: Why do you have a brain in your head, Joe?_

_Alison: Who is that arm next to you, Charlotte?_

_Mum: I hope you_ HAVE _Epsom Salt?_

_Alison: WHO IS THAT ARM?_

_Dad: JUST BE CAREFUL!_

Charlotte closed her phone with a chuckle. If anything, she could always rely on her family to make her smile.

Back to Sanditon and the hotel, she quickly found herself in a reality that made her forget the past two days – at least for most of the time. There was so much to arrange and to prepare for the open-day that Charlotte hardly ever found a minute for thoughts about Otis’s fate, Gigi’s tears, Sidney Parker’s eyes and mrscampion’s lipstick. 

Mary was alarmed beyond anything and wanted to know what exactly her husband was achieving in London. The electrician who was supposed to make the show apartment shine bright did not show up, and neither did the fire protection company that was supposed to connect Regency Row’s alarm system to the hotel’s. The temp agency cancelled the temps for the weekend, the wine merchant failed to deliver on time, as did the company for bakery products that was going to sponsor Arthur’s cupcake competition. 

The strangest mystery of all was, of course, the gardener who was due to show up on Tuesday afternoon to make sure that the hotel grounds looked fit to welcome a throng of visitors. Charlotte called him when he did not arrive on time, and all he said was that the invoice had not been paid yet.

“There is no invoice from Hillier’s Garden Services,” Charlotte said. “I’ve checked all files, I can’t find anything. Can you send me a copy?”

“I want to discuss this with Mr Parker,” the gardener said.

“Mr Parker is in London right now. I’m in charge of accounting, so, as I said …”

“I mow your lawn when you pay Lydia’s bill.”

“Excuse me?” Charlotte said, nearly dropping the receiver.

“My daughter. She’s doing IT services for the hotel.”

“Mr Hillier, first of all, your gardening services and your daughter’s so-called IT services have nothing to do with each other. Second, your daughter is being paid for social media services, and unless she upscales these significantly, I see absolutely no reason to pay her anything at all.”

“I will discuss this with Mr Parker,” the gardener repeated and ended the call. Charlotte shook her head. Sure enough, within ten minutes, Mr Parker texted her to put Lydia Hillier’s invoice for social media services on the top of the list she had to mail to his brother. One hour later, Mr Hillier himself and his pruning shears appeared. It was another conundrum on her growing list of conundrums.

That email she had to send to Sidney Parker cost her several nerves, and she was grateful for any distraction, be it Clara calling in sick, Edward and Esther discussing Lady Denham’s state of health at the reception desk (not well, she was still in hospital and recovering from what must have been a stroke), or James.

He was in desperate need of a sympathetic listener, as his father’s cancer was advancing towards the terminal stage while he himself was still pondering about the offer of an internship at a Vancouver architect company. 

But once James was counselled, there was no further excuse: Sidney was waiting for that list of his brother’s most pressing creditors, so she had to mail it to him. Compiling that list did not take long. Typing the email accompanying it took about one hour:

 _Dear Mr Parker_ (or was it Sidney? After that dance, it had to be Sidney… but then he had never called her Charlotte, only once, indirectly, to the intrusive waiter… she better left it at Mr Parker, and waited for how he replied),

 _As discussed with your brother, please find the creditors list enclosed. The most urgent ones are marked in red._ (He was no fool, he would work that out himself. Nevertheless-)

 _If you need further details, please let me know._ (This came close to begging for a reply, did it not? Charlotte sighed. But she would have written it in any other email to any other man, so she did not delete it. Now came the truly difficult part:)

Yours sincerely (That was a bit too formal, wasn’t it?)

Regards (Too harsh, right?)

_Best regards_

Charlotte (Too obvious. This was a professional email, no private back and forth)

C. Heywood (No. By that rate, they would still be keeping up the Mr-Parker-Miss-Heywood nonsense by Christmas)

 _Charlotte Heywood_ (That was who she was, after all)

She was staring at the message for another five minutes before she sent it, and after she sent it, she spent ten more minutes in front of the screen, waiting for a reply. When no reply came, she grabbed her phone and walked over to the Conservatory. Taking pictures for another Instagram post on the preparations of the open day was a perfect distraction. By the time she had finished the post, she had received a reply.

_Thanks_

*

The best thing about the preparations for the open-day was, of course, the fact that it took Charlotte’s mind off dissatisfying messages: _Wi$**,’’’’.’ Thanks._ One could hardly describe Sidney Parker as an eloquent writer.

And he did not do her the favour of simply walking off her mind, either. He was very present, whether she walked the beach after work and, without thinking, found herself by the cove, or whether she checked the gardener’s work and found herself staring at the hydrangea, remembering how he had made amends after Doktor Fuchs’s visit, or whether she simply opened her window in the morning and found herself eye in eye with the wise old herring gull that was standing on the gutter and seemed to know all about her heart.

Even when she joined James and Fred for another night at the pub on Friday, her mind was mostly occupied by the fact that the London party would be returning to Sanditon late this evening. Sure enough, on Saturday morning, she bumped into Sidney Parker himself as they were both leaving their attic rooms. After all those nights of being neighbours, it was the first time they met on the corridor.

“Mr Parker- ” 

“Miss Heywood…” Something turned Charlotte’s insides into treacle when she felt his gaze on her. 

“I was…”

“We have – ” They both looked at each other, smiling shyly.

“You go first,” Sidney said.

“I was just going to say that I wanted to look in on Gigi.”

“Yes. Please do.” He sighed. “Because I’m at a loss. She still holds me accountable for everything that’s happened.”

“You must be patient with her. Her whole world has crumbled down within a moment, and there is no hope of restoring it. I… I believe you know how sharp the agony of separation can be.” Charlotte felt herself blush. In any case, _she_ had learned a little about the agony of separation during this past week, though fearing Sidney Parker to be in the clutches of a woman promoting ugly handbags and pink home accessories online was nothing compared to being duped by a criminal from Interpol’s most-wanted list. 

“You’re right. I know how separation feels. Although fate has a way of surprising even the most jaded amongst us.” Charlotte could not help but smile. The man she had met in London was not jaded at all.

“You are not nearly as unfeeling as you pretend.”

“If that is the case, I will ask you to keep it to yourself.” There was a twinkle in his eyes. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Charlotte promised as her heart went into a flutter. All hope was not lost, not yet. After all, he was here, smiling at her, and mrscampion was miles away.

In the end, Charlotte found a way to take Gigi’s mind off her troubles, and that was by handing her an apron and declaring her Arthur Parker’s assistant for the production of meringue swans for the open-day. Gigi kept moaning and calling Arthur rude and offensive, but he just fed her with strawberries, gave her some egg whites to whisk and with his tireless good mood, smiled all her complaints away. 

Charlotte spent the Saturday glued to her clipboard, ticking off open tasks from her to-do list. With Clara calling in sick for the whole weekend, some last-minute amendments had to be made, but finally, the programme for the Sanditon Grand Hotel Open-Day was complete: “We’ll start with the cupcake competition for the kids,” Charlotte explained to Mr Parker, checking off each event on the whiteboard. “Then there are three guided tours of the house, conducted by yourself, and Kamila’s scavenger hunt.”

“Splendid,” Mr Parker said. “What else?”

“The show tables in the Conservatory, the Who Wants to be A Millionaire quiz, the tombola for Sanditon’s animal shelter, the bedsheet competition, the children’s painting corner, the duck race, the quick-yoga sessions by your sister, and of course the show apartment in Regency Row. That will be supervised by James Stringer.”

“Excellent.”

“Then there’s the test tee-off with Edward on the golf course. Plus the food stalls on the lawn in front of Regency Row and the cocktail tutorials at the bar. The maintenance team will be running the shuttle service to the town. And we’ll end it all with the golf cart race.”

“Something to enjoy for everyone. Splendid, Charlotte, splendid. Now we only need Lady Denham to recover, and all will be well.”

“Is it really so bad?” Charlotte asked. Mr Parker shrugged his shoulders.

“She’s our main investor, so of course I prefer to see her alive and running about,” he said with a laugh that somehow did not ring true. “Anyway.” He clapped his hands. “I see our open-day is in safe hands with you, my dear. Anything I can do to assist you?”

“Make sure the sun is shining tomorrow,” Charlotte suggested.

“I will. Oh, Esther. What is it?”

“They are here,” Esther said, more bored than ever before.

“Who?” Mr Parker looked nonplussed, and even Charlotte wondered for a second whether this was Esther’s way of announcing the invasion of the Martians.

“Doktor Fuchs and his first group of guests. Unloading the luggage from the bus right now. I thought you might like to welcome them.”

“Of course, I will! What a day! What a weekend for the hotel!” Mr Parker rushed out of the office. Esther stayed, looking at her wooden seagull namesake on Charlotte’s desk and shaking her head.

“I can’t believe you saved that ugly thing.” 

“I met Babington in London,” Charlotte said. “I think he really cares about you, Esther.”

“Then he better returns to talking to that seagull, for I don’t care about him.” She went back to Reception, switching on the smile on her face as if it was a lantern, for now, Doktor Fuchs and his guests came filing into the lobby, collecting their keys, blocking the elevator and keeping Esther and Mr Parker busy for the next half hour. 

It turned out that Doktor Fuchs’s assessment of his clientele had been right. They were neither interested in an invasion of the Sussex coast nor did they threaten to enter Lady Denham’s garden. One of them was a retired engineer who immediately fell in love with the ancient elevator. Another one was an architect who cornered Phillida Beaufort during her evening duty at the reception desk with a lecture on the Italian influence on Victorian architecture – a subject Phillida found slightly less fascinating than the messages popping up on her mobile phone.

Apart from that, Doktor Fuchs’s guests enjoyed their tea time in the Conservatory, listened happily to Mr Parker’s account on local history and eagerly took pictures of each other, of their tea and the hotel.

Charlotte was ready to wrap up her preparations and call it a day when she noticed that something was missing outside. The Aston Martin, duly parked by Sidney next to the entrance to impress new arrivals, was no longer there. “Is Sidney gone?” Charlotte asked. Phillida shrugged her shoulders.

“No idea. There are rooms booked again for these funny friends of his. Maybe he’s picking them up from the station.”

But not in a two-seater, Charlotte thought. And they always travelled in Babington’s car, taking a detour to the Brighton casino on the way. Then she was distracted by two ladies from Doktor Fuchs’s group, one white-haired, one grey-haired, both checking out the postcard stand and seeking her advice. “This? Or this?” the grey-haired lady asked, undecided between a view of the hotel against the blue sky and the picture of a seagull in flight over the town.

“Who are you sending it to?” Charlotte asked.

“My daughter. She likes hotels. And she likes seagulls.”

“Why not send her both cards then? Give her a double treat?”

“Oh,” the grey-haired lady said. “That is a nice idea. Do you have stamps?”

When Charlotte handled the stamps and the cash and the tip the lady insisted on giving her, the front doors opened and a cold rush of evening air came in, carrying Sidney Parker and a pink suitcase along, followed by no one other than mrscampion herself. “Phillida,” he said to the receptionist. “This is Mrs Campion. My brother’s got a room booked for her.”

“Of course,” Phillida stammered, staring at his guest in awe. “Mrs Campion. That’ll be one of the tower rooms, fourth floor.” Apparently, Phillida was one of her five-hundred thousand followers. The two postcard ladies in their comfortable cardigans and functional loafers squinted at the apparition sporting an ugly oversized handbag, tight-fitting white jeans and the highest high heels that had ever graced the floor of the Sanditon Grand Hotel’s lobby.

“I can’t believe I’m back,” mrscampion said, looking around the lobby, taking a selfie, then settling her adoring gaze on her companion. “Still the same old dusty glass cabinets. It’s as if I never left. It’s all unchanged, Sidney.”

“Yes,” Charlotte heard him say when his eyes met hers for the briefest of moments. He seemed to hesitate whether to acknowledge her or not, whether to greet her and introduce her. “Let’s get you settled in, shall we?” he suggested without looking at Charlotte again as he nudged his guest towards the elevator.

And I practically invited her with my Instagram comments, she thought. What a fool I was.

“ _Den würde ich nicht von der Bettkante schubsen_ ,” the postcard lady said to her white-haired friend, and they both broke into giggles as if they were teenage schoolgirls and not senior travellers interested in English history and culture. After a few moments of mirth, the postcard lady stopped laughing and turned to Charlotte. “If he runs away, she cannot follow him in those shoes.”

Run, Sidney, Charlotte thought. Please run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lady buying postcards for her daughter is of course my mother. Something prevented her from travelling this year, so I booked her and her best friend on a roundtrip with Doktor Fuchs.  
> “Den würde ich nicht von der Bettkante schubsen”: basically meaning: “What a handsome man – If I happened to find him in my bed, I’d ask him to stay.”
> 
> In the next chapter, we will witness "No Ordinary Competition".


	22. No Ordinary Competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidney, Sidney… definitely not on his best behaviour yesterday and miles away from being his best self. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long and difficult rollercoaster of a day for him, with several bumps along the way…

Sunday dawned with a blue and cloudless sky, promising beautiful summer sunshine for the great event. Sidney woke up early and decided to have a morning swim at the cove. That would help him clear his mind and focus on the day ahead.

When he left his attic room, he stopped in front of Charlotte’s door for a second. He heard the shower running, so she was up as well and getting ready for the action. 

He owed her an apology, of course, and an explanation. He knew he had acted like a coward the evening before when he had snubbed her instead of simply introducing her to Eliza as “Tom’s management trainee, Charlotte Heywood”. Just as he had snubbed her when he had answered her email about Tom’s creditors with exactly one word, or when he had left her standing on the dance floor at the Regency Excelsior Hotel and sleepwalked directly into Eliza’s arms.

Eliza. 

Naturally, seeing her again after all those years had perplexed him. He had imagined this moment so many times during the past eight years, and yet, her sudden appearance had unsettled him entirely. She was not the same woman now: Something of a reality TV personality (if one was into reality TV, which he was not) with her own handbag business and a new home accessories line coming up. She had acquired an American accent, her hair looked longer, fuller and blonder, her nose seemed a little more pointed, and her breasts… he could have sworn that by some magic, they had grown considerably over the past eight years.

Whether she and he were still had anything in common was another question, and one Sidney was pondering about when he threw himself into the waves that morning.

That night in London, Eliza had left him in little doubt about her intentions: she had apologised for her behaviour from eight years before and once more tried to explain it. She had been young, ambitious and scared by the prospect of a suburban existence as a banker’s wife.

And no doubt her present life was much more glamorous than anything Sidney could have offered her. But she was paying a heavy price for her ambition, she said. Her marriage to the American millionaire had foundered because Mr Campion believed three people were one too many in any marriage (the third one being the omnipresent memory of Sidney). She was not on speaking terms with her own family either, all due to her messed up relationships.

But now that she had returned to Britain, she hoped to make amends with everyone, and she wanted to start right here, with Sidney. The encouraging replies she received to her comments on the hotel’s Instagram posts had left her hoping she might be welcome to the Parker family again.

Had it been up to her, they would have ended that night in London directly in her hotel room. But that was definitely not what Sidney wanted. Mesmerised as he was by seeing her again, he was far from ready to forgive and forget. What had happened eight years ago had too profoundly shaped who he was today. Ultimately, his friendship with George Lambe and his whole career stemmed from her dumping him so brutally, but also his wariness, his inability to throw himself into someone else’s power again.

Someone very specific.

Someone who probably right now was thinking of him as the greatest nincompoop on the whole of the south coast.

He took another deep dive into the surf, feeling the waves wash over him.

He had told Eliza that he was not ready to wipe out the past just then and there. But he had agreed when she suggested coming to Sanditon for the open-day: to meet his family again, to chase some memories of those teenagers sharing their first shy kiss behind the hydrangea bushes on a summer afternoon half a lifetime ago.

And, of course, to promote the hotel to her five-hundred thousand followers.

And now that she was here, he could not simply ask her to go away again before the action had started. Imagine if she shared _that_ news with her followers! So he would keep her entertained and at arm’s length at the same time. It was only one day, after all.

He took a final dive. No sea serpent down there and no siren, just the sea, the current and the cold that faded out any troubles and any thoughts and left him concentrating on himself and his body’s moves. But only until he had reached the shore. When he rose out of the water and walked towards the rock where he had left his clothes, he could not help but smile a and think of Charlotte once more. How far they had come since that encounter! And how different she was from Eliza.

He hid his face in his towel, but he could not hide away from the realisation that he was failing Charlotte. Again. And that he was just terribly unfair. To both Eliza and Charlotte. Raising Eliza’s hopes, leaving Charlotte in limbo. Because if he was perfectly honest with himself, entertaining Eliza as his guest at Sanditon provided him with another pretence to claim that he was indifferent to Charlotte. Which he was not.

But pretending to be indifferent to Charlotte was so much easier than facing the fact that he was attracted to her. Attraction led to emotions, and emotions led to disappointment and pain. As Eliza had taught him all those years ago.

*

The open day started well. With one of the main factors – the weather – playing along absolutely brilliantly, one great sorrow was taken off Charlotte’s mind. She could concentrate on walking around, checking the stalls set up on the lawn in front of Regency Row, ticking off points on her clipboard list, talking, smiling, sharing optimism and generally not thinking of mrscampion and Sidney Parker at all. Or at least not every two minutes. 

Tom Parker, who guarded the hotel entrance to welcome every guest personally, was a bit concerned about the number of visitors. There were plenty, but most of them people from Sanditon and the surrounding villages, and not the potential buyers for apartments and memberships at the golf club he had hoped for. Yet he put on a brave face, introduced himself to everyone who did not know him, and explained about all the pleasures that were to be found on the hotel’s grounds on this Sunday, taking the opportunity to utter all his favourite slogans.

Charlotte decided that her boss was well occupied and walked back to the lawn where under Arthur’s supervision, the Cupcake Competition had started off. Equipped with buttercream in all colours of the rainbow and mountains of sugar decorations, Sanditon’s children were challenged to create the most beautiful cupcake. Charlotte put her clipboard aside for a moment and joined the Parker children in their efforts. 

Jenny was producing a pink unicorn cake, while Alicia was still undecided about her theme and tried out all the colours in the piping bags. Henry had taken the most logical approach, at least for a four-year-old: he had eaten half the cake, smeared his face with blue and red buttercream and was now happily munching on a sugar version of Captain America’s shield.

Charlotte leaned in to assist Alicia with her colour scheme and to wipe Henry’s face once he had finished munching when an amused voice with just the slightest American accent caught her attention. 

It was mrscampion, wearing tight-fitting white trousers and a pristine white blouse, sporting one of her ugly handbags. Sidney was standing next to her, dressed casually in jeans and a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but looking altogether a little awkward and less sure of himself as he usually did. “I attended a hotel opening in LA where the kids were given gift bags sponsored by Roboflex Toy Figures,” mrscampion said, fluttering her eyelashes. “But for sheer exhilaration, Sidney, what could compare to a cupcake competition?”

“Well,” he said, moving towards the Parker children’s table. “This is no ordinary cupcake competition. Look at this one, for instance.” He pointed out Jenny’s neat reproduction of a unicorn head. His niece beamed at him. 

“I did that all by myself, Uncle Sidney.” He beamed back, now looking relaxed and boyish, as he so often did when he was with the children, then furrowed his brow in mock doubt.

“No assistance by Arthur or Miss Heywood?”

“None at all. But maybe you can help Henry. He’s making a mess.”

“I’m not!” Henry protested. Sidney walked over to inspect his nephew’s work.

“It’s… err, interesting, Henry. I believe you deserve a second chance, though. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Heywood?” Charlotte looked up. She had been concentrating on Alicia’s choice of a chocolate theme, well aware of the fact that mrscampion, hovering behind Sidney, was eyeing her with much more interest than any children’s cupcakes.

“I believe everyone who’s made a mistake deserves a second chance, Mr Parker,” Charlotte said. Behind him, mrscampion cleared her throat and stepped forward.

“Well done, children, very w…” – but before she could finish her accolade, Alicia’s piping bag went off violently and in the wrong direction, and a fist-sized clot of chocolate buttercream landed on mrscampion’s pristine white blouse. 

*

There was a moment of horrified silence as everyone was staring at the brown clot slowly moving down Eliza’s front.

“I’m so sorry!” Charlotte cried as if it was her fault and not Alicia’s. Dashing around the table, she had a cloth ready to take care of Eliza’s blouse.

Eliza took it with equanimity, or at least she pretended to. Sidney knew her well enough to realise that the smile she had fixed on her face as Charlotte endeavoured to remove the chocolate clot was a bit too forced. “It’s nothing,” she claimed. “I have another outfit upstairs.”

“If you just leave the blouse at Reception, I’ll make sure it gets sent to the dry cleaner,” Charlotte said, stepping back from her work. The clot was gone. A large brown stain was still there. 

“Sidney,” Eliza said, obviously fighting to keep control. “Can we go up to the room so that I can have a change of clothes?”

“Of course,” Sidney said, noticing that Alicia made no move to apologise. Quite on the contrary, when they had turned their back on the cupcake competition, he was sure he heard both Jenny and Alicia explode with laughter.

“Who did you say that girl was?” Eliza asked as they were walking away, clutching her handbag to her front to cover the stain. 

“Alicia. My niece.”

“Not your niece. The pushy one.”

“Ah. Charlotte. – Heywood,” he added. “I think she wanted to help. She’s Tom’s management trainee for this summer.”

“Also in charge of the children?”

“Well, she’s in charge of … many things.” Such as organising this event, Sidney thought. Or offering him an olive twig when he was making a fool of himself.

Eliza smiled up at him. “She is rather a sweet little thing, isn’t she?”

Sidney looked the other way. How much easier his life would be if _sweet_ was the only thing Charlotte Heywood was.

Back in the hotel lobby, he found Babington leaning across the reception desk and keeping Esther from her work.

“Sidney, are you coming?” Eliza was standing in front of the lift.

“I’ll just wait here while you’re getting changed.” With a dissatisfied glance, she vanished behind the sliding doors. Sidney turned to Babington. “Where’s Crowe?”

“I’ve lost him to the cocktail tutorial at the bar,” his friend said. “What happened to her?” He nodded at the elevator doors closing behind Eliza.

“A cupcake accident.”

“I see. – I’ll never throw cupcakes at you,” Babington said to Esther. “I swear.”

“No one was throwing cupcakes at her,” Sidney felt compelled to say. She was his guest, after all. Esther was rolling her eyes.

“You’re boring me to death, Babington. I don’t want cupcakes, or ugly seagulls, or your declarations of love.”

“Then tell me what you want, Esther, and I’ll get it for you.”

“You’re the most un-shining knight I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes,” he grinned. “But I’m better than a knight. I’m a lord. Among other things.”

Sidney decided to leave these two alone. Tom came down the stairs, finishing one of his guided tours of the hotel and sending his guests off to the Conservatory, to the tombola and to Regency Row. “Sidney!” he cried when he saw his brother. “How is everything? Where is your dear guest of honour?”

“She’ll be back in a moment.”

“And does she like it? Do you know whether she has posted anything on social media yet? - Likes, likes, likes,” Tom grinned. “That’s today’s currency, I am being informed.”

“I … I don’t believe she has had time for that yet,” Sidney admitted. But Tom’s mind was already occupied elsewhere. 

“Charlotte, my dear!” For, of course, she was walking into the lobby right now, looking rather busy, her clipboard in her hand. “What is next on our agenda?”

“The Who Wants to be a Millionaire quiz is about to start, so I thought you might like to join Manoel and say a few opening words.”

“Excellent. Where’s Mary?”

“I believe she’s in the children’s painting corner.” Charlotte looked up, only now seeing Sidney. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Mr Parker.”

“It was not your fault.” It was his fault, all alone, and he had to tell her. “Actually, Miss Heywood… I was meaning to say…”

“Tom!” There was a bustle at the entrance door as Diana rushed in. “Tom! – Do you know who just stepped off the shuttle bus? No other personage than Lady Worcester herself!”

“What?” Tom was out of the door in a wink. 

“Who is that?” Charlotte asked. Sidney needed a moment himself to connect the name. Diana, however, was staring at her aghast.

“Lady Worcester? Intimate friend of half of the Royal Family? Kindergarten companion of the Duke of Cambridge?”

“Oh,” Charlotte said. They all rushed outside where Tom was fluttering around an elegant and somehow familiar-looking dark-haired woman.

“A thousand welcomes to Sanditon, my lady, a thousand welcomes… we are greatly honoured… had we expected such distinction… you will find us situated splendidly for a sojourn by the sea – or a refreshing round of golf…” Tom was back to catalogue speech. Not a good sign.

“Oh, shush all that,” Lady Worcester said. “I don’t care a fig about golf, and if I wanted to enjoy a sojourn by the sea, I’d go to the Mediterranean.” With a beaming smile and outstretched hands, she walked straight towards Charlotte. Sidney’s heart skipped a beat. Once more time to have his eyesight checked – this was the woman who had discussed him with Charlotte at the party at the Regency Excelsior Hotel. Sure enough, she now said: “I’m here to continue my conversation with Charlotte.” 

Everyone was staring at Charlotte, who tugged her clipboard under her arm, took Lady Worcester’s hands and returned the smile with a surprised “Susan!”.

“Splendid,” Sidney heard Tom mutter, and “Who’s that?” someone behind him asked. Eliza had returned, having changed into a cream coloured blouse.

“Lady Worcester,” Sidney said, shaking his head at the unending number of surprises Charlotte Heywood held in store. “A friend of the Duke of Cambridge. And of Miss Heywood, it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Charlotte and Sidney will roll "Across the Start Line"


	23. Across the Start Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a bow to JazzyOz who taught me something about Poms and gave me the perfect title for She Who Must Not Be Named.
> 
> In a rather unexpected personal twist, it looks as if I’m going on a spontaneous seaside holiday – tomorrow, more precisely. And apparently, I’m going to a place without internet. That will be an interesting experience. However, I will not be able to post updates during the next week. (But I’ll be able to sit back and talk to seagulls and sort out the mess Sidney Parker and I have created).
> 
> In the meantime, in case you are getting bored, you might want to have a look at my two previous Sanditon stories: Episode 9 – which is, as the name says, the episode they forgot to broadcast after the disaster that was episode 8; and A Collateral Damage – which is… different.
> 
> Enough said. Thank you all for still following this story – let’s roll.

Lady Worcester laughed all the fuss about her arrival away, insisted on being “Susan” and took Charlotte’s arm as she was shown around the grounds and the activities. “And you have organised all that?” she asked, pointing at the stalls on the lawn in front of Regency Row.

“I had some help,” Charlotte said. “But the idea was mine and… most of the organisation as well,” she added with a small smile.

“How thrilling! And don’t be shy about your achievements, my dear. You can be proud of yourself. Does a certain young man know yet that he is the lucky one to own your heart?”

Charlotte flushed and looked around. Sidney was nowhere to be seen, but mrscampion was standing just a few steps away at the sandwich stall, checking out the vegan options.

“I fear you are mistaken. I’m… he has…” It was difficult to put the disappointments of the last twenty-four hours into words. Susan pressed her hand.

“I’m never wrong when it comes to matters of the heart, Charlotte.”

“Even if it were true, there is …” Charlotte realised that she had obviously forgotten how to finish a sentence, at least when it involved Sidney Parker. Susan gave her an indulgent smile. 

“Oh, I know all about Mrs Influencer. You only have to pick up one of these glossy magazines, and there she is, in the society news. Well connected, with an advantageous divorce settling, a thriving handbag business and a fashion deal on each finger. I can see why you find her a frustrating rival.”

Rival? It was strange to think of herself as a rival to someone like mrscampion. The woman seemed to inhabit a different planet. And yet, Charlotte thought with a sigh, I am the maker of my own misery. I have literally invited her to the open-day via Instagram. Even without the surprise encounter at the party in London, she would be here, clinging to Sidney like wet seaweed and showing a complacent smirk on her face.

“But,” Susan said with that happy smile of hers, “she will have a weak spot in her defence. We just need to find it.” She stopped and let go of Charlotte’s arm before sailing towards the sandwich stall with the happiest smile ever: “Eliza Campion! I have been longing to meet you. I am so fascinated by your beautiful handbags…”

Charlotte sighed. If only she could move as easily in society, put on a happy face when expected and distribute superficialities when required. And if only she understood the workings of Sidney Parker’s mind. Or was he so befuddled by mrscampion’s presence that his sharp mathematician’s brain had stopped working altogether?

She thought of a man who never failed her and decided to pay him a visit.

James was guarding the show apartment on Regency Row, a job he performed with precision and attention to detail, just as it befitted an architect. He said good-bye to a couple of visitors when Charlotte appeared, and he welcomed her with his usual smile. “Looks like your open-day is a success,” he said.

“Have you sold any apartments yet?”

“I’m working on it. There’s still a problem with the electricity in the show apartment, but I won’t let you down.”

“You are doing this for Mr Parker, not for me,” she reminded him. 

“Yes. Of course. Mr Parker. How could I forget.” 

“I believe after the cricket, all tensions cooled down?” Charlotte asked.

“Now that we have been paid, yes. The question is only: For how long will it last?”

“Oh, come on, James. I’m sure it was only a… momentary situation.” At least she was sure that with the start of the summer season only days away, the strains on Mr Parker’s cashflow would soon disappear. She moved the conversation to a different topic. “How is your father?”

“Going from bad to worse. I’m grateful for any distraction.”

“And the internship in Vancouver?” She walked over to the Venetian windows to have a look across the lawn. Susan was standing by the tombola, chatting with Mary and Diana, Arthur was collecting cupcakes for judgement, and Gigi was manning the duck race, even from afar looking very unhappy with the ducks.

James sighed. “How can I plan half a year abroad when my father is here on his deathbed? – No, it’s decided. I’ll stay in Sanditon.”

“The strange thing is, I find the idea of leaving Sanditon difficult too. Even though it’s not been more than six weeks now.”

“But you don’t have to go, Charlotte.” James was by her side now.

“My contract only runs until mid-October.”

“But I’m sure Mr Parker will not want to see you leave. So many things can happen until October. You might find another reason to stay.” 

“Yes, I might.” She looked down at the lawn again. Sidney and mrscampion had joined Gigi at the duck race. “But to be honest, I don’t think so.” James took a step back. 

“No?”

“No. And I don’t think Mr Parker will need me once the season is over. – Oh. That’s my phone ringing.” She smiled apologetically at him as she answered the call. It was Edward, telling her that the course he had prepared for the golf cart race was ready. “Thank you, Edward,” she said. “I’ll come around. – I’m sorry, James. I’ll see you at the race?”

“You’ll see me _winning_ at the race, Charlotte.”

“A revenge for the cricket?”

“A revenge,” James confirmed.

She waved him good-bye with her clipboard and happily walked over to the racetrack. Edward was nowhere to be seen, probably already busy showing tee-offs to potential new members.

Four golf carts were parked at the entrance to the course, guarded by a herring gull sitting on the roof of one of them. Charlotte shied the bird away and started checking out the security equipment. As golf carts were not strictly made for racing, the contestants had to wear helmets plus protection for their elbows. And goggles, of course, but for a different reason.

Charlotte turned around when she caught a movement in the corner of her eye. It was Sidney Parker, standing a few steps away and dubiously eyeing the carts. “It’s still some time until the race,” she said, ignoring the question of where he had left mrscampion. “I’m letting all competitors know.”

She expected him to leave and return to his lady friend, but he remained where he was. “And what do you think, Miss Heywood? Do I look ready to you?”

Ready for what? she thought. Driving a blind golf cart race? Departing on a lifelong holiday with mrscampion?

“I’m no expert,” she said.

“Neither am I.” He certainly _did_ look more concerned than usual– but whether that was about the prospect of taking part in a golf-cart race, the general state of the world, his absent companion or something completely different, Charlotte could not tell. “This is the first time I am driving a golf cart in years,” he said. “Used to do it to supplement my pocket money when I was a teenager.”

“I’m sure it will come back to you,” Charlotte said, trying not to think of Sidney Parker as a teenager. Surely, half of the female teenage population of Sanditon had been in love with him. Or his good looks.

He was staring thoughtfully at the neat white carts. 

“ _A man cannot buy the same car twice_ ,” he said. “Have you heard that?” Charlotte frowned and thought for a moment. 

“I think that’s a misquote.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. The original is by Heraclitus. _A man cannot step into the same river twice, for he is not the same man and it is not the same river_.”

“I assume that means at least one of us was paying attention during philosophy classes.” Sidney gave her a crooked smile. He shied the herring gull away that had settled down again on the roof of the cart next to him, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Come on,” he added before she could correct his assumption, patting on the passenger seat.

“What?” Charlotte asked, dumbfounded. Sidney smiled that bloody smile that made him look boyish and her knees go all wobbly. 

“I need you as my co-pilot. I understand that I am to drive a blind race and that it is you who has placed me in this predicament. I believe the least thing you can do is help me practice, Miss Heywood.” So the Miss-Heywood-Mr-Parker nonsense still was not over. It was just another one of his tactics to keep people at arm’s length. Especially when there was no arm’s length available, like in a golf cart. She climbed into the passenger seat and handed him the equipment from behind: the blackout goggles, the helmet, and the arm protections.

“You have to put on the arm protections first,” she explained, doing it herself. “Then the goggles and the helmet.”

“I see you have planned everything, Miss Heywood,” he said just before his eyes vanished behind the goggles. Now that he was blind, she could stare at him as much as she liked. Or at least stare at his hands on the steering wheel, as there was not that much to see of his face. His hands were just as handsome as the rest of him. So much for being in love with his good looks.

He fumbled for the key. “So the idea is that you give me directions on where to drive?”

“Yes. That’s the challenge. Though in real life it will be your brother, of course.” 

“I see. That’s a bit mean, isn’t it?”

“No,” Charlotte said. “It’s going to be fun. At least for the spectators.”

“Yes. I was afraid of something like that.” Nevertheless, he started the cart and dutifully drove forward until she told him to turn right and he took the corner too late and stuck the cart in a wall of sandbags. 

“That’s the fun part,” Charlotte explained. He sighed. With the helmet and the blackened goggles, he looked more like a giant insect than like Sidney Parker. After a few moments of staring ahead of him in, he turned his head to face her, his eyes still blinded.

“Miss Heywood.” His voice was changed now, deeper, more serious. “I have been meaning to say… earlier… – I suppose you were surprised to… meet Eliza here.”

“Why should I be surprised,” Charlotte said as nonchalantly as possible yet grateful that she did not have to meet his gaze. “I invited her on Instagram.”

“Right. Still… I believe it’s different to meet someone in person than online.” Correct. The online version of mrscampion was definitely preferable since she did not cling to Sidney like wet seaweed or made him behave like a nincompoop. But Charlotte understood that in his weird Sidney-Parker-way, he was trying to apologise for snubbing her, and she decided to help him move forward.

“I think I told you on a previous occasion how hard I find it to make people out, Mr Parker.”

“Yes.” His smile was half-hidden by the helmet and the clasp. “In fact, you did.”

“But maybe it’s even more difficult to make oneself out. And maybe those difficulties make us occasionally act in a way that we later come to regret.” He thought about that for a moment.

“Did anyone in particular provoke that idea?” he finally asked.

“Yes.”

“And do you think you can forgive that person for… being such a fool at times?”

“I think I can.”

“Thank you, Miss Heywood. You are very generous to me.” And I’m probably a fool myself, Charlotte thought, for allowing you to butter me up time and again. She sighed.

“Shall we go on?”

Sidney nodded and started the golf cart again. They managed to get out of the sandbag wall and, following Charlotte’s directions, he navigated the cart around another corner. He stopped and took off his helmet, handing her the goggles.

“Move over. Your turn.”

“What?” 

“I have to find out whether I’m better at driving or giving directions. – You told me to get more involved in the hotel. So here I am, driving a blind golf cart race for my brother. But only if you support me.” Charlotte could not help but laugh, and as he was laughing too, there suddenly was an easiness around them, a lightness she had last sensed on the dancefloor of the Regency Excelsior Hotel. He walked around the cart, and she moved over to the driver’s seat.

It took her a few moments to arrange the goggles’ band and the helmet over her long hair, and even though she could not see it, she was acutely aware of Sidney Parker watching her.

“May I ask you something, Miss Heywood?” he said, his tone more serious now.

“Of course.”

There was a moment’s pause. Again, and even though she could not see him, she felt Sidney’s gaze on her. “Why, when I finally have a chance at happiness, can I not accept the fact?” There was a sadness in his voice that stirred Charlotte’s heart.

“What is it you cannot accept?” she asked into the black void around her.

“I had convinced myself that I was destined to remain alone.” He sighed. “That I was ill-suited for a relationship.”

“I … I don’t believe anyone is ill-suited for a relationship.” It was definitely easier to say these words without having to meet his eye. And what a sad thing it was to believe oneself ill-suited for a relationship. “I suppose it’s a question of compatibility.”

“Suppose you’re right,” he said after a moment. And after another moment: “Come on then. Let’s get us out of this trap we have fallen into. – Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” Charlotte said, and that was entirely true.

“Then let’s start.” She started the cart. “Go ahead – careful… good… turn right now …” They moved forward quite successfully until, inevitably, the cart landed in the sandbag wall again, rather forcefully this time, and Charlotte found herself bumping into her co-pilot.

It was a soft landing. Sidney Parker’s chest was a surprisingly comfortable place to be. “Careful,” he said very close to her ear. “Your hair is somehow… entangled.” She felt his arm coming around her shoulders, holding her right where she was, close to his chest, while his free hand loosened strands of her hair before carefully taking off her helmet.

“Better?” he asked. Charlotte nodded, still blinded by the goggles, unable and unwilling to move, and in any case unable to speak. 

She heard him fumble with the clasp of his helmet and drop it behind him. Then he cautiously removed her goggles. She blinked, adapting to the sudden sunlight. His face was right above hers, his dark eyes gently gazing down on her. She took it all in: the short dark curls, the stubble of beard, his full lips, half-opened, and his eyes – oh, those wonderful, wonderful eyes, so hard at times and yet so soft right now. So soft, as if he wanted her to read in them, and what she read was - - -

“Sidney!” someone cried, screeching like a fire alarm.


	24. What He Wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! I have returned from my offline family time by the sea - plenty of seagulls, plenty of shells, a clifftop walk (yes!), but no seabathing (it's autumn in the northern hemisphere, after all).  
> Thank you for all your lovely comments - you don't seem to be too fond of mrscampion, and neither am I. Let's find out then whether her manners have improved since 1819...

_“Sidney!” someone cried, screeching like a fire alarm._

mrscampion had been attacked by a herring gull. Or by an American bald eagle, judging by her description of the attacker. But since American bald eagles were not known to be nesting on British shores, it must have been a herring gull. The most giant herring gull on the whole of the south coast.

She had been innocently walking towards the racecourse, taking bites from the Strawberry Secret in her hands, when the aggressive bird took a nosedive at her. It had flapped its majestic silver wings in her face and snatched the Strawberry Secret from her carefully manicured fingers.

To Sidney’s credit, he did not drop Charlotte like a hot potato at the sound of mrscampion’s screeching. Neither did he run away from her as if stung by a bee. Given the limited space inside a golf cart, that was impossible. Charlotte immediately sat up, bumping her head on the roof, and Sidney mumbled “Sorry”, and whether that was referring to Charlotte bumping her head or mrscampion interrupting Charlotte’s study of his eyes was left to anyone’s imagination. Thrown back into reality, they both blushed and looked the other way. Charlotte squeezed herself past the steering wheel and got out on her side of the cart, freeing Sidney to move out on his side. 

By the time they reached a trembling mrscampion, Diana and her first aid kit had arrived as well. The hungry bird had not only stolen half a Strawberry Secret but also hacked into its victim’s index finger. This injury prompted Diana to hold a very serious speech about the importance of checking one’s vaccination status regularly. At the same time, she was cleaning mrscampion’s index finger with disinfectant and applying a bandage – though whether it was blood or Strawberry jelly that she was cleaning away was left to anyone’s imagination again. During this operation, mrscampion held on to Sidney’s arm as if for dear life, demanding the extinction of the whole British herring gull population. 

Charlotte turned her back on the scene and walked back to the abandoned golf cart. A giant herring gull was landing on the roof: her old friend with the damaged plumage that liked to peep in on her from the gutter in front of her room. What do you want, it seemed to ask Charlotte, half a strawberry dangling from its yellow beak. If I had not interfered, she would have stumbled right over you as you were exploring your distant country. That would have led to a _real_ blood bath.

The bird had a point there, Charlotte thought. mrscampion walking in on a sweet moment shared with Sidney was undoubtedly the least romantic thing in the world, and it was highly unlikely that the woman would have simply turned around and mumbled: “I’m sorry”. Charlotte shied the herring gull away with a sigh and drove the cart back to the start line. 

Mr Parker’s hopes for positive Instagram posts to grab the attention of mrscampion’s half a million followers were indeed to be disappointed, for if one was perfectly honest, this day was not going in her favour. First the cupcake accident, then Lady Worcester stealing all the attention away from her, now the attack of the revengeful herring gull. And there seemed to have occurred another incident involving Crowe who had mistaken mrscampion’s handbag for a rubbish bin and deposited some greasy sandwich wrap inside. Not to mention the fact that Sidney Parker seemed to be more interested in discussing relationships with Charlotte Heywood than anything else with his personal guest. 

She looked over to mrscampion, who, leaning on Sidney for support, was walking back to the hotel, probably still demanding the extinction of the British herring gull population. 

_And do you think you can forgive that person for… being such a fool at times?_

_I had convinced myself that I was destined to remain alone. That I was ill-suited for a relationship._

The sadness of these words still stung her, and at the same time, she understood that she better stopped being so very forgiving, because mrscampion was clearly not. mrscampion was like a bull that was being teased: she only became more likely to attack. And mrscampion’s attack would be extra painful, that much was obvious.

Charlotte returned to Regency Row where the stalls on the lawn were attracting a considerable crowd of people – more people than she had expected, and many of them just looking like the clientele Lady Denham hoped to attract for the golf club. 

At the champagne tent, Charlotte saw Susan in conversation with an elderly couple. She did not wish to interrupt, but when Susan waved at her, she shyly came closer.

“Charlotte, my dear! Please meet my good friends, Lord and Lady Grassmere. – This is Charlotte Heywood, the young lady to whom we owe this delightful day.”

“Well done, Miss Heywood. Very well done,” Lord Grassmere said, toasting her with his glass. Lady Grassmere nodded her head emphatically as if to underline every word her husband said.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, slightly abashed. As Lord and Lady Grassmere took their leave to try their luck at the tombola, she moved a little closer to Susan. “Are all these people here at your invitation?”

“Not necessarily.” Susan smiled. “I might have dropped the word with a few friends, and they’ve dropped the word again … and so on until everyone was convinced they would be missing the most exciting event of the year if they did not come to Sanditon this Sunday.”

“They would be missing the golf cart race. That is going to be exciting,” Charlotte agreed. “I hardly know how to thank you!”

“There is no need for you to thank me, Charlotte,” Susan said very seriously. “I came here to enjoy your company, and I’m pleased to see that everything is working out so well for you.” She turned around to the champagne stand and handed Charlotte a glass, taking another one herself. 

“I hear Mrs Influencer has survived a vicious bird attack?”

“She has.” Charlotte wondered how to tell her about her romantic golf cart adventure when Susan’s friendly face brightened up even more. 

“I also believe we can safely say we have found her Achilles Heel.”

“Have we?” Charlotte asked, only now realising that mrscampion was walking towards the tent, holding her bandaged hand up. Sidney Parker was following her two steps behind, looking not very happy at all.

“Indeed we have.” Susan smiled. “It’s you.” 

mrscampion lost no time. “May we join you?” she asked, nodding at Sidney to hand her a glass of champagne, which he obligingly did. She made a bit of a drama of holding the glass with her bandaged hand while clutching her handbag with the other before she added: “What is the topic of discussion?”

Susan switched on her most charming smile. “Charlotte and I were just talking about love.” Were they? Charlotte wished she could vanish into thin air. But Susan had more in store: “What is your view on love, Mr Parker?”

Sidney looked up with surprise, then started shifting from one foot to another, not really meeting anyone’s eye. “I’m… err; I’m hardly an expert.”

“What about you, Charlotte?” mrscampion asked, the friendliest false smile on her face Charlotte had ever seen. Apparently, the herring gull episode was already forgotten. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Charlotte considered throwing the contents of her champagne glass at the woman’s face. Or thrashing her with her own ugly handbag. Anything, just to make her shut up. But she controlled herself. “If I were to enter a relationship, it would have to be based on mutual love and affection,” she said. “Unless I can be sure of that, I would prefer to remain alone.” Sidney Parker was busy moving around bits of the lawn with the tip of his right shoe.

mrscampion added a false laugh to her false smile. “Come on – a girl your age? So picky? There must be someone in hotel management school who caught your eye.”

“And why should Charlotte be limited to her school?” Susan asked, winning the competition of false smiles by far.

“I always think it helps to share a common background,” mrscampion explained, filing yet another entry for the competition of false smiles. “Charlotte is hardly likely to find a kindred spirit in our company.”

Susan persisted. “And why not?”

“I just imagine she finds all our fashion and society talk unspeakably tedious,” mrscampion kindly explained. “A hotel is a great place if you are the owner and can dabble with the fun parts like marketing and interior design, but for the ordinary worker, it’s close to slavery with long hours and little pay. My sister worked as a receptionist during her studies, and she said it’s killing any relationship unless you have a partner who is in the industry too.” She took Sidney by the arm. “You’ve left your family’s hotel business behind, and for a good reason – you would agree, wouldn’t you, Sidney?”

Sidney stopped mistreating the lawn and gazed into his champagne glass. He was obviously hoping to find an answer in there. When a reply would not pop up with the bubbles, he tried a smile, which did not work either. “I believe Charlotte does not mind hard work if it benefits her career, and I do not doubt that she is more interested in business administration than in interior design.”

“Hard work and business administration!” Now mrscampion’s laughter was real, and she looked around to invite others into her mirth. “How wicked you are, Sidney! That is certainly not going to help her find a boyfriend.” 

There it was, the angry bull’s attack Charlotte had been fearing. She felt the tears shoot into her eyes, but she managed to hold her head high. “You are quite right, Mrs Campion,” she said. “I’m a farmer’s daughter who hopes to improve her position in life through hard work and learning. What could I possibly have in common with anyone here? Excuse me.” She turned and walked away, unable to stop those treacherous tears from falling.

*

Sidney knew he was wrong even before he opened his mouth. The only correct answer was to hammer Eliza with her own ugly handbag and tell her that she had no business – absolutely no business at all – to mock a girl eight years her junior. A girl from a much humbler background than herself, a girl that was trying to make a career. A career based on discipline, work experience and learning, not on a reality TV show, an Instagram account and a short-term marriage to the next available millionaire.

Yet, what he said was something very different, and it was utterly wrong. He saw the pain in Charlotte’s eyes and the disapproval in Susan’s petrified smile. What was it that always made him treat Charlotte abominably when Eliza was nearby?

“You are quite right, Mrs Campion,” he heard Charlotte say. “I’m a farmer’s daughter who hopes to improve her position in life through hard work and learning. What could I possibly have in common with anyone here? Excuse me.” She turned and walked away, her head held high, but the shaking of her shoulders belying her emotions.

How could he? Hurt her of all people like that? Several seconds passed by in embarrassed silence until he came to his senses. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, and without looking at Eliza or Lady Worcester, he ran after Charlotte. 

He caught her by the bookstall, out of sight of the champagne tent. 

“Charlotte…” Indeed the worst moment to end the Miss-Heywood-Mr-Parker-nonsense. And she did not even seem to notice it.

“Sorry, I’m very busy right now,” she told his left shoulder. “The golf cart race is about to start, and I must…”

“Just for a moment,” he pleaded, touching her as lightly as possible by the elbow. He did not want to scare her, and he did not want her to run away, either.

“Well?”

“I just wanted to say… I hope you were not too offended by Eliza. It was only meant in jest.” It was not. He knew it, and Charlotte knew it, and she did not buy it from him. Instead, she raised her dear dimpled chin in defiance. 

“Is that what I am to you? A joke?”

“No! You are… you are…” What was she, apart from a lovely face and a vivid mind?

“You’ve done me a great service, Mr Parker. Thank you. I am no longer in any doubt as to how you regard me.” Hurt: that was what she was. 

“Miss Heywood!” He caught her by the arm again, a bit firmer now, but released her when he saw her face.

“What? What is it you want from me?”

He opened his mouth, thought for a second, then closed it again, dumbfounded. 

What was it he wanted from her? 

Yes, what indeed?

It was surprisingly simple. 

He wanted her. 

He wanted her smile, her laughter, her large eyes shining down on him. He wanted to caress her and tickle her and hear her sigh under his touch. He wanted to kiss that dimple, and he wanted to feel her lips on his. He wanted to entangle his hands in her hair again, and he wanted to pull her close to him. He wanted to explore her like no other woman before. And he wanted to lose himself in her embrace, relishing the liberating knowledge that she truly and fully understood and accepted him, whatever his faults were. He wanted her opinion, her advice, even her assumptions. He wanted to protect her, and he wanted to make her happy. He wanted her to be the mother of his children and his companion for the rest of his life.

He wanted her love. 

Because with her love, he would be a better man, a man daring to be his true self.

That was what he wanted from Charlotte Heywood. 

And so far, all he had done to win her love was to fail her. Again and again and again. 

When he met her eyes now, he saw that he had lost her. This time, she was not going to forgive. This time, she was not going to hand him an olive twig or build him a rhetorical bridge. He had overplayed his hand and delivered one disappointment too many.

She simply shook her head, her eyes shiny with tears. “Please, be kind enough to leave me alone,” she said and walked away from him without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Sidney makes it "Beyond the Finish Line".


	25. Beyond the Finish Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, this is a work of fiction. Golf carts are not made for racing, so don’t even think about it. Even if you happen to find yourself sharing a cart with Sidney Parker.

“Good luck, James!” Charlotte cried as merrily as possible when the four teams participating in the first Sanditon Golf Cart Race put on their protective gear. Not that James needed her good wishes. She was confident that he would win, and deservedly so. In stark contrast to their competitors, James and Fred really formed a team, something that could not be said of the other three crews. 

The two contestants from Sanditon’s driving school seemed to understand only now that their driver would be blindfolded. Crowe, who as well as Babington had been blackmailed into taking part as a compensation for continued free stays at the hotel, was already mourning the loss of the fifty quid he had put on his own Team Seagull. Tom Parker tried to fold his long and wiry body into the passenger seat, beaming around as optimistically as always. However, his brother looked like a giant insect again, his face hidden behind goggles and a helmet – a rather unhappy insect: an insect that kept bumping against the window on its search for a way out.

“I’m so glad we don’t have to do the rowing thing again,” Arthur said next to Charlotte. “That was last year for the bicentenary. I stumbled over an oar and nearly drowned.”

“I think I’ve heard about that,” Charlotte said.

“Still getting goosebumps just by the memory of it,” Arthur added with a shudder. 

“Good luck, the Parkers!” Mary cried, and Jenny, Alicia and Henry echoed: “Good luck, Daddy! Good luck, Uncle Sidney!” Mr Parker gave them a thumbs up. 

There was quite a crowd gathered around the racetrack now. Charlotte made some pictures for the hotel’s Instagram account. mrscampion was very busy putting on variations of a duckface while taking selfies. That task completed, she positioned herself close to the finish line, probably hoping to welcome a victorious Sidney.

Sidney. Try as she might, Charlotte could not wipe the image of his face from her memory when she had asked him what it was that he wanted from her. She knew that with the right answer, she would have been ready to forgive him everything. Even bringing Eliza Campion to Sanditon.

But he did not answer. He seemed utterly and completely dumbfounded by the idea that there might be anything he wanted from Charlotte Heywood.

And it hurt. It hurt to understand that she was nothing but a funny little distraction for him, good enough for a romantic dance in London and some tension in the golf cart, but certainly not the real thing.

With a little sigh, she returned her attention to the racecourse. The starting officer, who was no one other than Constable Hankins, was giving final instructions, and then the carts were off.

Team Driving School had a good start but got stuck in the sandbags behind the first corner. Team Seagull, directed by Crowe, without apparent hurry, drove along the start line instead of away from it. Team Parker and Team Stringer remained on par until they reached the first corner. Team Parker had the advantage of the wider angle but the disadvantage of Tom Parker giving directions. Team Stringer, on the other hand, under Fred’s careful guidance, took the corner with little elegance but much efficiency. 

“Well done, James!” Charlotte cheered. “Well done, Fred!”

“Are you not cheering for the Parkers, Charlotte?” Diana asked next to her.

“I would. Only there is so little to cheer for.” Which was not true. Despite Tom’s frantic directions, Sidney had manoeuvred the cart around the corner and gained on Team Stringer.

There was a cheer in the crowd when Team Driving School managed to break free from the sandbag wall, but now they were pursued by Team Seagull. Crowe’s approach seemed to be that the shortest way to the finish line was not necessarily the quickest, which was why he directed Babington in a merry zigzag line across the track, providing the onlookers with plenty of opportunities to listen in on their conversation.

“Are you sure we are still on the racecourse?” Babington asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Only it feels as if we were driving in circles. Which position are we in?” Crowe checked the empty track behind their cart.

“First.”

“Really? Where’s Sidney?”

“Stuck in a sandbag wall and waiting to be rescued by a cute little siren.” 

Charlotte blushed and moved on. It was not true, of course. Neither the siren part nor the sandbag part: Team Parker was gaining on Team Stringer, which was quite a feat if one listened to Tom’s directions: “Right, Sidney…, no, left now … I mean, it’s a rather leftish right … stop, stop!” She could see Sidney’s clenched jaw under the helmet. He was determined to win, even if it meant pushing his brother from the passenger seat and running him over with the golf cart.

Team Driving School got stuck in another sandbag wall. If they had hoped to promote their services on this occasion, they had miscalculated. 

“Are we anywhere close to the finish line?” Babington asked. Crowe turned around and looked at the racecourse.

“No. But I can safely say that we have just crossed the start line again.”

Team Parker and Team Stringer were competing now for victory, glory and the title of the first Sanditon Golf Cart Race Champion. Team Stringer struggled to turn around the last corner and was nearly overtaken by Team Parker, but on the final meters and cheered on by an enthusiastic crowd they managed to gain on the hotel team again. Charlotte positioned herself close to the finish line. 

“Miss Heywood,” a screeching voice said.

“Mrs Campion.” Charlotte acknowledged her without so much as looking at her. Nevertheless, the woman kept talking to her, wiggling her bandaged finger.

“I do hope Sidney wins. I don’t see the point of entering a race unless you win it.”

Charlotte did not bother with a reply. On the racetrack, Team Stringer crossed the finish line half a cart’s length ahead of the Parker brothers.

“Well done, James!” Charlotte cried and ran over to give her friend a hug. 

“Do I get one as well?” Fred asked. He did. She was glad to see these two win the race, especially after conceding victory so generously at the cricket.

“That was fun,” she heard Tom Parker say. “Even if we did not win. It is not always about winning, is it, Sidney? It’s the competition that counts.” Sidney grumbled something unintelligible and dumped his protection gear into the cart.

Once the missing teams Driving School and Seagull had been retrieved, the award ceremony, as Mr Parker called it, began. He had recruited his unofficial guest of honour, Lady Worcester, for the handover of the First Sanditon Golf Cart Race Cup, and Susan completed this duty with her usual obligingness and elegance. Charlotte took some pictures of Team Stringer and the cup, and some more of Mr Parker and Lady Worcester, and another one of all contestants. This one she deleted immediately afterwards because Sidney Parker looked in it as if he was going to throttle James for taking the victory away from him.

It was past six now, and the open-day was drawing to an end. The winner of the Cupcake Competition declared, all tombola prices claimed for, the hotel’s stock of champagne entirely drained and half a strawberry field eaten up in Strawberry Secrets, there was nothing left to do but to hand out Arthur’s meringue swans to departing guests, and to clear up the mess. 

At the shuttle bus waiting in front of the hotel entrance, the Parker family had gathered as Mr Parker was saying good-bye to his newly found best friend. “Well, Mr Parker,” Susan said with that charming smile of hers, “I must thank you for a most invigorating day.”

“I have to thank you.” Mr Parker bowed and grinned and blushed, all at the same time. “And I hope we might welcome you back to Sanditon many, many times… you and your friends.” 

“There is a certain likelihood. I hope for at least one very happy occasion that will make me return to Sanditon. - Charlotte.” She held out her hand for her young friend, and squeezing her fingers tightly, led her a few steps away from the shuttle bus. “Goodbye, dear Charlotte. You mustn’t lose heart. The race is not yet run.” Charlotte sighed, thinking of mrscampion’s words at the finish line again.

“Thank you, but I’m quite resigned to its outcome.”

“My dear, when it comes to love, there is no such thing as a foregone conclusion. Your friend may find it a little difficult yet to understand his own heart, but once he does, both he and his heart will be yours forever.” With one more encouraging smile, Susan turned to the shuttle bus. 

“Excellent,” Mr Parker said when the bus drove off, clapping his hands. “Excellent! My open day was a triumph.”

“It was,” his wife said. “Though it might be fair to say that it was Charlotte who brought Lady Worcester here and that it was Charlotte who had the idea of the open-day in the first place and who did most of the organisation.” 

“Of course!” Mr Parker was beaming at Charlotte now. “And how glad we are to have you, my dear! I knew it the moment I picked you up at the station. I saw you, and I said to myself: Tom Parker, this is a young woman of spirit and understanding, a young woman ready to embark on an adventurous course to change her fate – and consequently, that of the Sanditon Grand Hotel.” He was talking catalogue speech again, which Charlotte found even more frightening now that it was about herself. 

“I’m glad I could be of help,” she simply said, blushed and started searching for her clipboard which in the general hustle and bustle of the day, she had lost somewhere along the way.

*

Sidney had remained at the racetrack. Now that the race was over and everyone had left, this seemed to be the most solitary place on the hotel grounds. He returned the carts to the shed and dismantled the track. He was sure that on Charlotte’s clipboard list, someone was in charge of these tasks, but that someone – probably Edward Denham – was nowhere to be seen. And apart from that Sidney was glad about some physical exertion that kept his mind from thinking. 

Thinking about Eliza, thinking about Charlotte. 

Eliza, who had occupied his memory for eight years. Who had been a part of his life for more than twenty. Who had returned, wishing to leave the past behind and to start a new future with him by her side. A wish he had only encouraged by welcoming her as his special guest to the hotel.

Eliza, in whose company he seemed to become a different man, a man treating Charlotte Heywood abominably.

Charlotte, who had angered and infuriated him more than any other woman on this planet. Who questioned and doubted and criticised him at every possible opportunity. But who was also warm-hearted, and full of kindness, and able of insight and self-reflection. Who always saw the good in other people. Maybe even in him: a man reigned by his tempers and troubled past, jaded by his experiences, used to make others suffer for his anger. And yet, Charlotte Heywood had managed to touch him, to melt something inside of him.

He realised that Charlotte knew him better after these six weeks than Eliza had come to know him during their six years of a relationship. 

Charlotte knew the worst of him, and it did not pain or trouble or embarrass him. It was alright. It was good. He wanted her to know everything about him. And then he wanted to close his eyes and come to rest in her embrace.

He turned around, sensing that someone was watching him. 

Eliza, clutching her handbag with her bandaged hand, looking like a younger, more vulnerable version of herself. Maybe, and despite all her bravado, the emotions of the day had taken a toll on her as well. Plus the piping bag incident. And the herring gull attack. And Crowe mistaking her handbag for a rubbish bin.

“I was waiting for you,” she said, looking at him intently.

“You didn’t have to,” he replied, trying a kind smile and feeling remorse because he had brought her here when his heart was engaged elsewhere.

She made a step forward. “I have waited so many years. What is another quarter of an hour?” And as he could not come up with an answer, she continued, searching his hand: “The truth is, now that I have found you again, Sidney, I cannot bring myself to let you out of my sight.”

“Eliza …” he softly said, withdrawing his fingers.

“I never lost hope that we would be together once more.” She moved closer to him. “And here we are! Fate is giving us a second chance. It’s like a miracle. I let you go once before; I am not going to make that mistake again, Sidney.”

He sighed, then searched her eyes and gently shook his head. “I don’t want to go back, Eliza.”

“I’m not asking you to go back! I’m asking you to look ahead! To build a future with me! There is so much we can achieve together! Just look at your hotel – I see the potential for - ”

“It’s my brother’s hotel, not mine,” he corrected, wondering nevertheless what potential she saw in it. He was not going to ask, though. Eliza sighed.

“I know how much I hurt you back then,” she said, searching his fingers again. “I was young and ambitious. Are you going to punish me for that?” He shook his head.

“Of course not. Everyone who’s made a mistake deserves a second chance.” She dropped his hand at once and took a step back.

“It’s that girl, isn’t it? This Charlotte Hay-thing. She’s stealing you from me.”

“Charlotte cannot steal something from you that is not yours in the first place.” Her hand went to her mouth, and with a sob, she turned away from him, her shoulders twitching.

“I’m sorry, Eliza,” Sidney said. “Until not too long ago, I would have wished this to work out, but it doesn’t. I should never have brought you back to Sanditon. I’ve been lying to myself for weeks, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe we could revive the past, but we can’t. I’m not the same man, and you are not the same woman, either. - I’ll drive you down to the station, and we’ll part with much less drama than eight years ago.”

*

After the bustle of the day, the hotel was strangely quiet now in the evening. Charlotte made one final round through the building, thanking the kitchen and the service staff for their efforts. Doktor Fuchs’s guests were having their half-board dinner on the Conservatory’s terrace, enjoying the view and the mild evening sun. The postcard lady and her friend waved at her, and she waved back with a smile. Over at Reception, Julia Beaufort was filing through the pictures of the day, marking the ones they might use for the website. 

Charlotte glanced outside. The Aston Martin was gone. She imagined Sidney and mrscampion driving through the countryside, the roof open, the balmy evening wind playing in their hair, and them having a sunset dinner at some fancy countryside restaurant before returning to London late in the night.

Well, good riddance. Had she actually ever believed that she could be anything to Sidney Parker? To a man eight years her senior, to a man of his experiences, his lifestyle? A country girl from the middle of nowhere? What a joke she was indeed. What a laugh Sidney Parker and mrscampion must have at her right now.

Don’t think of it, she told herself, and continued her tour at the gym. The lights were switched off now, the punching ball looming in the semi-darkness like a ghost. But there was a noise that caught her attention, something in one of the changing rooms. Could not be Edward and Clara again, for Clara was still on sick leave. And it did sound more like someone crying. 

“Hello?” she called out and opened the door to the ladies’ changing room, only to step back immediately. Over there on the bench in front of the lockers, sitting three feet apart from each other were Babington and Esther. Esther was crying, covering her face with her hands, and Babington, half-turned to her, did the best he could do to console her without touching her.

“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said, uncertain what to do. Though there was quite a lot of love written all over Babington’s face, this was no lovers’ scene.

“It’s alright,” Babington said. “It’s only Charlotte, Esther.”

“But whatever has happened?” Charlotte asked, kneeling in front of her colleague whom she only knew as aloof and composed.

“Apparently, Lady Denham is recovering and will be leaving the hospital tomorrow,” Babington explained.

“But that is good news, isn’t it?”

“I thought so, too.” Whether one liked Lady Denham or not: it _was_ good news. 

“Clara,” Esther muttered. “The scheming little serpent.”

“What has she done?” Charlotte asked though she had an indistinct idea.

“She’s pregnant. She’s made sure Edward got her pregnant, and now he’ll have to marry her.”

“Why would she do such a thing?” Babington asked, furrowing his brow.

“Because she wants his title and a share of the Denham’s fortune. But our aunt is going to explode when she hears about this. She’s going to disinherit them, both of them.”

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said, and Babington looked as if he did not either.

Esther finally looked up, her delicate features covered with tears. 

“That will leave me our aunt’s heiress.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Babington asked. Esther hid her face again. “Look, Esther,” he continued. “I don’t know what has transpired, and I’m aware of the fact that you don’t hold me in much esteem, but … I’m here because I’m your friend. I’m on your side, and I won’t allow your brother or Clara or anyone to make a victim of you.” Esther gave a long sob, then suddenly reached out for the hand he had placed on the bench. 

Charlotte rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you two to it. – If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know, Esther.”

“Good night, Charlotte,” Babington said. “And thank you. For this – and for today.”

Charlotte returned to the office, wondering what it was that made Esther cry. There was something in this triangle of Clara, Edward and Esther that she did not understand. 

It was nearly dark now, but Mr Parker had forgotten to shut down his computer, so the office was bathed in the blue light of his screensaver. Charlotte did not bother to switch on the ceiling lamp. The light falling in from the corridor would be enough.

Esther’s wooden namesake was still sitting on her desk. “Just another conundrum,” Charlotte told her, filing through the papers Mr Parker had dumped earlier on the desk. Many entries for the hotel’s newsletter, several new memberships for the golf club, and a list of people asking for more information on the apartments. There was no doubt that the open-day was a success. _Her_ success. Something to put on her curriculum vitae when she applied for her next job.

As a final task, Charlotte clicked through the hotel’s Instagram account. The most popular post of the day was the one showing James and Fred as winners of the Golf Cart Race. How James would blush, and Fred would laugh when they saw all the burning hearts and flattering comments dedicated to them! Even from a marketing aspect, the best team had won.

There was a noise at the door that made Charlotte spin around. “Oh.” She was truly startled, for she had assumed Sidney Parker was miles away, on the road somewhere between Sanditon and London, not ten feet away from her in his brother’s office. “If you’re looking for your brother…” 

“I’m not looking for Tom.” He remained where he was as if to make sure that he did not cross an invisible boundary. Despite the low light, Charlotte could make out his features: all the anger he had shown at the race was gone. Instead, there was something very solemn in the way he regarded her, and in his dark and gentle gaze, she discovered an emotion she could not name but found deeply unsettling.

“As a matter of fact, I’m looking for you,” he explained.

“I thought you and… Mrs Campion were heading back to London,” Charlotte said primly, trying to keep her feelings and the sudden, stupid hope from her face.

“I have seen her to the station,” Sidney said. “I still have to go to London tonight, but I decided against leaving in her company.”

“I don’t understand.”

He looked down at his feet as if the explanation might be lying on the ground. Eventually, he looked up, making eye contact again. “I would very much like to stay here. But I can’t. I have an appointment tomorrow morning and a meeting in Berlin on Wednesday. I’ll be back for the Midsummer Ball, though.” Charlotte nodded, unable to speak. Of course, he would be back next Saturday for the Midsummer Ball. Just as she would be back to carrying trays with champagne glasses. 

He made a step towards her, yet keeping his distance as if he wanted to make sure she did not feel imposed on. His face was more in the light now, and she was struck by how open, how vulnerable his expression was. Never had she seen him so serious, so intent. She felt as if his whole body and all his senses were focussed on her. After a few moments, he spoke again. “Charlotte... I know I am a good deal less than perfect. You have made me all too aware of that.”

Have I? she wondered. 

“But, for whatever it’s worth, I believe…” He paused, looked down again, then slightly shook his head as if he was weary of denying a rather obvious truth. Lifting his head, he looked her square in the eye. “I believe I am my best self - my truest self - when I’m with you.” A shy, nearly apologetic smile. “That is all,” he added, turned around and was gone, leaving Charlotte alone with a wooden seagull, a pile of golf club membership applications and a heart beating so heavily that she heard a buzz in her ears. 

_I am my best self - my truest self - when I’m with you._

She must have been dreaming. 

Outside, the Aston Martin started with a violent roar. 

She had not been dreaming. Sidney Parker had been here, and he had offered her nothing less than his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Sidney will discuss the weather and its influence on indoor events (among other things).


	26. The Possibility of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your comments. I won't manage to answer them today, but I really enjoy reading your thoughts and feedback. And you may not realise it, but you often make me notice details that I have to point out in the next chapter.
> 
> So here's the one you've been waiting for. Sit back and relax, it's a rather long read.

According to the clock, one day still consisted of twenty-four hours. 

There had to be something wrong with all the clocks in the Sanditon Grand Hotel, though. For Charlotte, every single hour of the next week stretched on as if it was a whole day. The fact that the absent Sidney Parker made random appearances in the office, in her apartment or when she was walking by the sea did not help at all, especially when he chose to look at her with that dark and gentle gaze and repeated his parting words: _I am my best self - my truest self - when I’m with you._

These words worked like a spell on her. They made her smile and giggle, and sometimes even cry, depending on her mood. For omnipresent as Sidney was, he was definitely not here, but there and everywhere, catching up on his international clients, due to return to Sanditon late on Friday night after his business trip to Berlin. Until then, Charlotte’s only hope was to distract herself with work. 

As always, there was enough to do at the hotel, especially with the Midsummer Ball coming up on Saturday. When there was nothing left to prepare for the ball, she volunteered to pick up the girls from school or shuttle guests to and from the station.

Mr Parker was very busy these days with all those new memberships for the golf club and the Regency Row apartments' potential buyers. Unfortunately, there was the continuing trouble of workmen who did not show up, even though they had been paid now. First and foremost among them was the electrician who never came to repair the fuse in the show apartment, leaving it effectively in the dark and causing Mr Parker one day to announce that he was going to fix the problem himself.

“I wouldn’t suggest that,” Charlotte said. Mr Parker laughed, patting her on the shoulders. 

“No, my dear. Of course not.”

More successful than the call for the electrician was Charlotte’s idea to employ Gigi in the Conservatory’s breakfast service. She had done well by Arthur’s side when preparing all the pastries for the open day. Charlotte assumed that regular working hours plus a physically exhausting job would stop her from putting all her energy into wild rants against the British police, Otis’s lawyer and Sidney Parker. 

And Charlotte was proven right: despite Manoel’s initial claims that he had never seen a sulkier breakfast waitress than Georgiana Lambe – and no-one wanted to see a sulky face for breakfast – she started her shifts on time and worked hard. On Wednesday morning, Charlotte saw her in discussion with the postcard lady and her friend who were just leaving the Conservatory. The conversation seemed friendly enough, though, with the postcard lady smiling and nodding at Gigi. Charlotte watched them from reception, and when the two ladies had walked over to the elevator, greeting her as well, she joined Gigi who was staring at something on her palm. 

“What was that about?” Charlotte asked. 

“Oh.” Gigi looked up from what was in her hand. “They are two strange ladies. They forgot these on their breakfast table, but when I went after them, they insisted I keep them.” She showed Charlotte two shiny pound coins with Her Majesty’s profile.

Charlotte could not help but smile. “That’s called being tipped, Gigi.”

“Really? Why would they want to tip me?”

“Maybe because they liked your service?”

“Do you think so?”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. You can ask them tomorrow morning. – But I do know that if you continue to collect tips, you can invite me to a treat at the Study Café very soon.”

Gigi was staring at the two coins again. “I think I’m going to keep these. As a reminder.”

Maybe that was the whole secret, Charlotte thought as she watched her friend return to the Conservatory. Maybe Gigi’s aggressiveness was nothing but insecurity from a girl that had never received positive feedback before. She shook her head and decided to end her lesson in kitchen psychology then and there.

With another challenge, she was less successful: the Denham conundrum. Lady Denham, upon learning that Clara was expecting Edward’s child, had thrown the expected tantrum. Clara claimed that Edward had promised to marry her. Edward, on the other hand, claimed immediately that he had never made such a promise and that the child was not his, leading to the result that most of the Denham family was not on speaking terms with each other right now. Though how Esther’s tears fitted into the story, Charlotte had no idea.

Every working day brought many diversions, but in the evenings, back in her attic apartment, with only the old herring gull peeping in on her, Charlotte always grew restless. Staring at Crowe’s picture of Sidney and herself at the premiere party, her mind travelled to distant countries and beyond. 

What if she had misunderstood everything? What if back in London, Sidney had crossed mrscampion’s path once more and realised that when he was with her, he was an even better self than with Charlotte Heywood? What if she simply picked up her phone and asked him? Or sent him a message?

_Mr Sidney Parker: Wi$**,’’’’’_

_Charlotte Heywood: Hi._

No.

_Charlotte Heywood: Can you please repeat what you said on Sunday night because I’m sure now you said something very different from what I heard._

No.

_Charlotte Heywood: Can you please come to Sanditon asap because I’m dying to see you._

If it was only about seeing him. She longed to touch him, to feel and explore him, like the distant country that he was. Her physical yearning for him was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

_Charlotte Heywood: I’m in love with you, and I’m utterly befuddled because I have been in love before, but this time, it’s completely different._

That was the point, Charlotte realised when she deleted the message. What she was feeling for Sidney was so pure in one way and so intense in another that it delighted her as much as it frightened her.

And if he was feeling the same, why did he not simply pick up his phone and told her? Or was he even more frightened than she was?

But on Wednesday night, just as she was about to switch off the light and go to bed, in a hotel room six hundred miles to the east, Sidney Parker did pick up his phone. Charlotte stared at the screen saying _Mr Sidney Parker, one new message_. Please, she thought, her heartbeat accelerating, let it be a real message, not some cryptic nonsense again.

It was not nonsense. It was a link to David Garrett’s version of The Verve’s Bittersweet Symphony. _They played this in the hotel’s gym tonight, and it reminded me of a moment in a much better company._

No greetings, no salutation: classic Sidney Parker. 

He was definitely as frightened as she was, Charlotte decided as she opened the link. She closed her eyes and listened to the song, reliving those precious moments in London. Though in her version, there was no mrscampion crawling up from behind her ugly handbags. There was only Sidney Parker, gazing down on her and telling her that he wanted to be with her, now, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and for the rest of his life.

*

Sidney stood by the window of his hotel room in Berlin. As the room was located on the sixth floor, it offered an excellent panoramic view of Kurfürstendamm and the area around the hotel. Below him, the large leaves of the plane trees lining the pavement were rustling in the night breeze, adding a peaceful element to the otherwise busy boulevard. He sipped the whiskey kindly provided by the minibar and told himself that he was very calm, very much in control, and that it was not the end of the world if Charlotte Heywood chose not to reply to the message it had taken him about three days to concoct. 

Maybe she had blocked him. Maybe she was already in bed. Maybe she was out on another pub night with Stringer and his friends. Maybe she had forgotten who Sidney Parker was (unlikely, though. He could think of at least one occasion on which he had made a lasting impression on her).

Maybe what he had said to her on Sunday night was not enough to reach out to her, to rebuild the bridge he had destroyed so carelessly. Yet, thinking of her standing in the strange blue light of Tom’s desktop, of the expression on her face, that mix of pride, surprise and helplessness, he liked to reassure himself that he had, in fact, managed to touch something inside of her.

He took another sip of whiskey and again stared out of the window. The treetops swaying slowly in the darkness made him think of dancers, of his dance with Charlotte in London. If only Eliza had not shown up, if only he had not lost control but sent her back to her world of handbags and home accessories. He drained the whiskey. Self-pity was not going to help. Neither was another mini bottle from the minibar. He opened one nevertheless.

Three minutes and forty seconds: that was the length of the song. That was how long it would take Charlotte to reply. At least. If she cared to open the link. If she cared to listen to it. If she cared to reply. 

He opened the window, took in a deep breath of fresh air, and listened to the noises of the city below him – traffic, police cars, drunken night owls strolling down Kurfürstendamm, chairs and tables being moved as the café next to the hotel started closing down for the night. An ambulance came hurling down the boulevard, the siren howling so loudly that he nearly missed the soft buzzing of his phone. 

_Dimple: Thank you._

Not very eloquent, but who was he to comment on other people’s lack of eloquence? Sidney kept staring at the two words, searching for a reply that would not put the conversation to an immediate halt. He might ask her how she liked the song. Or how the weather was in Sanditon (in Berlin, it was rainy and a bit cold for the season). Another message buzzed in. 

_Dimple: I hope the punching ball survived your company in the gym._

Staring at his reflection in the dark window, Sidney found himself grinning like a besotted teenager. _No punching ball there, but a rowing machine. Still in working order when I left it._

_Dimple: I’m glad to hear it. Good night._

_Sidney Parker: Good night, Charlotte._

He kept checking his phone for another half an hour, but there was no further reply. Yet it was a beginning. They were on speaking terms. Or on texting terms. Even though she pretended to be more concerned about the local punching ball than about him. 

And by the next morning, she still considered herself on texting terms with him. Sidney was stuck in a taxi caught in the morning rush hour when a new message flashed up. 

_Dimple: Good morning._

He had had no idea that two words on a phone screen had the power to change the course of an entire day. No one had obliged her to wish him a good morning. No one, but herself. It made him hope as he had never hoped before. 

_Sidney Parker: Good morning, Charlotte._

_Dimple: Can I ask you something?_

_Of course,_ he typed, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. She could ask him anything. After all, he wanted her to know everything about him.

_Dimple: What does Wi$**,’’’’’ mean?_

Not quite the question he had expected, but enough to keep the conversation going.

_Sidney Parker: I was waiting at Heathrow immigration and wanted to tell you that I was returning early from Sydney and that I’d be on my way to Sanditon soon. Got shouted at by an immigration officer, dropped the phone in the hassle of it, broke the screen and only realised the message had been sent when it was far, far too late._

_Dimple: I see. I have been wondering about it for a while._

_Sidney Parker: You could have asked me._

_Dimple: Yes._

And after a few seconds-

_Dimple: But then again, maybe not._

_No, maybe not,_ Sidney typed, thinking of the shout out on the station square that had followed that day. _But please ask me next time when I’m expressing myself so badly._

_Dimple: OK._

_Dimple: I have to work now._

He smiled, imagining her sitting at the desk in Tom’s office and going through the hotel’s daily reports, watched by the wooden seagull and probably enjoying the quiet moments before his brother rushed in. 

His taxi stopped in front of an office building.

_Sidney Parker: I have to go to work as well. Have a nice day, Charlotte._

Paying attention to financial proposals and investment details when mentally composing messages to Charlotte Heywood turned out to be a real challenge. Sidney tried to be his usual professional self on this day, but whenever he looked up he saw Charlotte watching him with that clear and wise gaze of hers, and she still seemed to be wondering whether she could trust him or not.

In the evening, on the way back to the hotel, he started typing again, but whatever he wrote sounded either cheesy or silly or awkward. In the end, he deleted all drafts and returned to the one safe topic in any small talk: _It’s raining in Berlin. How is the weather in Sanditon?_

_Dimple: Warm and sunny. Gigi and I are heading for the beach now. Arthur has packed a picnic basket for us._

He tried not to be disappointed. It was one of the longest days of the year, and if the weather kept fine, they could stay on the beach nearly until midnight. However, with Gigi by her side, Charlotte would not spend her time texting with him.

_Sidney Parker: Sounds like a perfect evening by the sea. Enjoy yourselves._

_Dimple: Thank you. Goodbye._

*

On Friday morning, Charlotte anxiously expected Mr Parker coming to the office. She would find a way to inconspicuously squeeze his brother’s arrival time from him. Of course, she could just text Sidney and ask him. On the other hand, she did not want to create the impression that she was dying to see him. Even if she was dying to see him. mrscampion’s poisoned arrows were not yet forgotten, and if he really wanted to make amends, she better did not appear too desperate to accept them.

“Mary, I’m telling you…,” Mr Parker marched into the office, the phone on his ear, making Charlotte return to reality as he was talking to his wife. “No, my dearest, he’s returning from Berlin today, he just called me… but he’s being held up by his Australian client in London tonight. Can’t be here before tomorrow morning. Yes. Must go now… - Good morning, Charlotte,” he smiled after finishing the call. “And it’s a wonderful morning, isn’t it? Lovely weather forecast for the weekend, by the way. Very suitable for tomorrow night. Of all the balls in Sanditon, the Midsummer Ball is the best – apart from the Spring Ball, the End of Season Ball and the Christmas Ball, of course.” He laughed, and Charlotte tried to laugh with him because bursting into frustrated tears in front of her boss really was no option.

But sure enough, when she next checked her phone, she had a message from Sidney.

_I wish I could come to Sanditon tonight, but I have to look after my Australian client. He has cancelled his divorce._

Disappointed as she was, Charlotte could not help but think that a cancelled divorce was much better than another call by mrscampion.

_Charlotte Heywood: But that is good news, right? A cancelled divorce?_

_Mr Sidney Parker: Yes, that’s good news. At least for my client._

_Charlotte Heywood: Are you losing your fee?_

_Mr Sidney Parker: No. Quite on the contrary. Increasing it as we have to scale back everything._

Charlotte shook her head. It was a strange business he was working in. She definitely preferred the hotel industry, which was only about selling rooms and making guests happy and not about taking advantage of other people’s problems.

_Charlotte Heywood: Well then._

_Mr Sidney Parker: Well then, Charlotte._

With a smile, she shoved the phone away before anyone could accuse her of behaving at work as if she was the third Beaufort sister. Yet how strange it was to be texting with Sidney Parker. And how, whenever she read her name typed by him, she felt as if he was caressing her with his dark and gentle gaze.

After another night of tossing around in her bed, Charlotte got up early on Saturday and decided to go for a mind-clearing walk along the seashore. At this time of the day, she had the shallow waters, rock pools and secret coves all to herself, and even though the sight of shells and colonies of barnacles did not precisely clear her mind of Sidney Parker, they at least managed to distract her for about five seconds.

When she returned to the hotel, the Aston Martin was parked on its usual space next to the entrance. Charlotte’s heart started racing immediately. So he was here. He was here. Her mind went blank. How come that after five days and six nights of thinking about nothing but Sidney Parker, she now had absolutely no idea what to say to him? How come that the idea of using actual speech for communication instead of her fingertips suddenly made her feel tongue-tied?

She considered taking the staff entrance at the back and sneaking into her room unseen when the entrance doors opened, and Doktor Fuchs’s guests and their suitcases spilt out. 

Charlotte had completely forgotten that it was their departure day. There was a great hustle and bustle until the bus had arrived and all the luggage been stowed away, and Mr Parker had shaken every guests’ hand and wished them a safe homeward journey. The postcard lady and her friend said good-bye to Charlotte, telling her they would come back one day with their families, and Doktor Fuchs and Mr Parker congratulated each other for their successful maiden voyage.

“I tell you, Charlotte, we are going to have the best summer we have ever had at Sanditon,” Mr Parker said as he held the entrance door open for her to return to the lobby. “Ha! Mary! There you are! Wouldn’t you agree?”

Mary, who was just coming out of the Conservatory, did agree. “Good morning, Charlotte,” she added. “Have you been out for a walk?”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful day.”

“And it’s going to be a beautiful ball tonight,” Mr Parker said “Which reminds me, Charlotte. The temp agency has called again to cancel their people. And Doktor Fuchs’s next group will be checking in this afternoon… Can you start two hours earlier today? At three, let’s say? – Ah! Sidney! Any plans for the day?”

Charlotte turned around in slow motion. So there he was. What would she find on his face? Polite interest? Nonchalance? That dark and gentle gaze that kept following her even in her dreams?

What she found was herself drowning in a gaze so soft and tender that it made her gasp. After a moment, Sidney cleared his throat. “I was just thinking about walking into town, so if there’s anything anyone needs …” His voice trailed off. 

“How kind of you to ask, Sidney,” Mary said. “I’m entirely taken up by the ball this morning. What about you, Charlotte?”

“I have some books to return to the library,” Charlotte heard herself say. “Perhaps … I could … walk with you?” She barely managed to reach the question mark. Her heart was thumping in her breast as if she had just finished a marathon run. Which, in a way, she had.

“Very well.” Sidney inclined his head. And yet, Charlotte could see the smile on his lips.

“I’ll just run and… get the books from upstairs,” she added and floated over to the elevator. 

“I’d thought you’d rather go for a swim, Sidney,” she heard Mr Parker say, but through the closing elevator doors, she missed his brother’s reply.

The weather was still good, with fleecy clouds dotting the sky above a sea that looked exceptionally blue and endless on this day. 

For once, Charlotte had no eye for the beauty of Sanditon. She kept staring at the back of the man in front of her who was climbing down the steep cliff trail to the beach. It was not necessarily the route she would have chosen for a walk into town. Still, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, even though he was particularly taciturn this morning.

She did not mind his silence for if he had no idea what to say, neither had she. Maybe they better went back to texting each other. Conversation was so much easier when conducted with their fingertips on the phone and not in each other’s presence. 

Of course, she could just ask him something about his business trip to Berlin: the flight, the food, the hotel - obvious topics. But that would only lead to awkward small talk, and she was in no mood for more awkwardness. For the moment, she was absolutely fine with walking down the trail behind Sidney, with the soft breeze playing in her hair and the white caps of the waves dancing in the distance.

They reached the rocky shoreline underneath the cliff. A family of oystercatchers was stalking along the nearest sandbar, searching for prey. Charlotte nearly bumped into Sidney as he suddenly stopped and gazed into the sky instead. 

“A fine fresh day,” he said.

“Yes. Indeed,” Charlotte replied, gazing into the sky as well. Not very profound, but a beginning.

“Bodes well for the ball tonight.”

“Yes.” Texting had been so much easier. However, he was not yet ready to give up on the conversation.

“Though … it’s an indoor occasion, so good weather is … maybe not so much of a consideration.”

“No, quite.” 

“But, err, welcome, nonetheless,” he added, staring the other way. This was quickly turning into small talk nightmare; rather a dead end, not a beginning. Charlotte sighed. 

The question of the weather’s influence on indoor events resolved, Sidney started walking towards the cove. After a while, he glanced at a rockpool. “Are you looking forward to the ball?” he asked the shells, crabs and algae gathered inside the pool. They did not reply, but Charlotte managed to compose a sentence that consisted of more than two words.

“Depends … since I’ll have to carry champagne trays again.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” From the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth twitch. She searched her brain for anything witty and intelligent to say, but her mind seemed to be emptied of wit and intelligence. After some more awkward moments, Sidney said: “And your family? Any news from Willingden?”

“I had a message from my mother this morning, but it was just about … how to prevent blisters.” So much for witty and intelligent. Nevertheless, Sidney nodded gravely. 

Charlotte glanced around herself. They had reached the cove now. There was the rock where she had found his clothes, there was the spot where he had risen from the waves. There was no Sanditon library at all. “We seem not to be walking into town,” she observed.

Sidney looked up from a colony of barnacles he had been studying. “No. Oh, of course … the books you needed to return. What an idiot I am.” (You’re not, Charlotte thought). “Should we head back, perhaps?” He actually started walking away.

She shook her head with a smile. Maybe, there was a way to breach whatever was standing between them. “No. I can extend the lending period online. A walk along the shoreline is much more to my taste.”

“Good.” He came back to her, his relief evident on his face. “My thoughts exactly.” A flash of a smile, then a quick look to the side before settling his gaze on her. “In fact… in fact, I was hoping that we might find a moment when we could be alone together.”

“Were you?” 

“Yes.” 

Her heart turned into a sledgehammer and her legs into pudding. It was a dizzying combination, made even worse by Sidney moving one step closer to her now. 

“I spent this whole week thinking about nothing but you and our conversation in the office,” he said, his eyes searching hers, his voice deep and hoarse from emotion.

“So did I,” she confessed.

He made another step towards her, now nearly touching her, keeping her gaze. And as she lost herself in Sidney Parker’s eyes, she realised that they had given each other all the answers they needed. There was only one question left to ask for him.

“Charlotte…”

“Yes.”

*

The kiss was delicate and pure, and when it ended, they held on to each other, their foreheads touching, both of them unable to speak, overcome with their emotions as the gravity of what had just happened was sinking in. 

Finally, Sidney moved his head, just so that he could gaze into Charlotte’s eyes. He tried a little smile, and she returned it, her cheeks flushing. Her evident shyness touched him even more. She was a bundle of contradictions – courageous when fighting for what she believed was right, rather coy now that she had what was rightfully hers. 

“Charlotte,” he whispered once more as if her name (which was the most beautiful name in the world, just as she was the most beautiful woman) would work a magic spell.

It did work a magic spell: for once, Charlotte Heywood seemed to be lost for words. There was enough to be read in her eyes, though. Sidney inclined his head and touched her lips for another kiss, savouring her sweet and tender response, feeling her melt towards him as he tightened his embrace. 

They better stopped this now. The cove was an isolated part of the beach, yet, as he knew very well himself, even here visitors tended to pop up unexpectedly. They were not going to start this with being caught in the act by random walkers. Or by the local gull population.

He broke the kiss and tried to move half a step away from her but did not get far. Her left hand remained on his back, and with her right, she cautiously explored his face, his stubbly cheeks, his temples, then his hair, all the while locking eyes with him as if to make sure that he was real, that he was really hers.

Which he was. Utterly and completely. He had never wanted to put himself under anyone’s power again, yet holding Charlotte in his arms, feeling her gentle touch, her steady gaze, tasting her lips, had put him exactly there: under her power. And it was the best place to be.

“Sidney,” he heard her whisper, and that made him smile again because they had now officially managed to end the Miss-Heywood-Mr-Parker-nonsense. He lifted her up from her feet and twirled her around until he lost his balance and tumbled down with her in the sand, pinning her down with his body. The perfect moment for another kiss, Sidney decided, caressing that sweet, sweet dimple with his thumb, and not caring for random walkers or nosy birds any longer.

This time, Charlotte ended the kiss, pounding her fists against his chest. “Sidney,” she said once more. “What are we going to do now?” He could not help but smirk. 

“I have no idea. You are supposed to be the resourceful one, Miss Heywood.” This made her laugh and seeing her laugh made him laugh as well. Laughing with each other felt like the perfect cure against the tension, the fear and the doubts of the last few weeks – until suddenly and as if by an invisible signal, they fell silent, just drowning in each other’s gaze again.

“Charlotte,” Sidney said, entwining his fingers with hers. “I meant everything I said on Sunday night.”

“I know.” Of course, she knew. He could see it in her clear and wise brown eyes, in her serious yet tender gaze. Yet he had to make sure.

“Forget all the nonsense I ever said about your experience or your opinion. Forget the babysitter and the station square. But never forget that I’m a better man when I’m with you.”

“I will never forget it,” she solemnly promised. “But I won’t forget the other stuff either,” she added with a mischievous smile that made him laugh again. It was good to laugh the past away - just until it was time to kiss her again.


	27. Spinning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little warning: Towards the end of the chapter, there are some references that might be rated "Parental Guidance".

“You look very happy today, Charlotte,” Manoel said when she reported for duty at the F&B manager’s office in the afternoon. “Has Mr P given you a pay rise after the triumph of the open-day?”

“Not… exactly.”

“Such a pity. I think you deserve one.”

“I have everything I need,” she assured him, and that was true. She had Sidney Parker’s heart. Only a fool would ask for more.

“You’re far too modest. – But you look different. New make-up?”

“Probably a little sunburnt. I spent most of the day down by the sea.”

“I see,” Manoel said and did not pursue the matter further. Understaffed and with two-hundred guests to cater for, he did have other worries than the question of why Charlotte Heywood seemed to be floating half a foot above the ground. Or why she kept smiling as if she had won the lottery jackpot. Or why, if one looked very closely, there were a few grains of sand sticking to her temple.

She kept smiling and floating during the whole evening. Never had dispensing champagne glasses been a happier task than when she knew that Sidney’s gaze was following her all across the room. Sometimes she looked up to return that gaze, and when their eyes met over the heads of the guests, they could not help but smile at each other and share the same memories of the cove.

She did not mind that she had to work, running about in her black service dress, while he was free to enjoy himself, looking dapper in black tie. She watched him as he invited Alicia for another dance, making his niece giggle and beam as he spun her around in his arms.

They had agreed that with all the bustle and Tom’s usual panic before the ball, this was not the best moment to announce the happy news to the Parker family – especially since the news was so fresh and with it, they would only enhance the general excitement. Better to tell them quietly during Sunday brunch or a family clifftop walk. So it was back to lingering looks and secret smiles, but as they were no longer connected to doubt and insecurity, they were much more enjoyable now.

Tom Parker held a speech to welcome his guests, locals and newcomers alike, to the Sanditon Grand Hotel, and to formally declare Regency Row open. The remaining electricity issues had been resolved, the building connected to the hotel’s fire protection system and the first guests were expected to check in on Sunday. A new chapter in the long and happy history of the Sanditon Grand Hotel and the Parker family was about to be opened… he drifted off into catalogue speech. Charlotte caught Sidney on the other side of the room winking at her. She winked back, wondering whether one day, she would become a real part of the hotel’s history and the Parker family.

“Why does Sidney keep staring at you?” someone next to Charlotte asked. It was Gigi. She had been allowed to join in the evening’s delights if accompanied by Mrs Griffiths – who was nowhere to be seen right now.

“Pardon?” Charlotte said, catching her full tray.

“Sidney,” Gigi repeated. “He keeps staring at you. Why?” 

Charlotte could not help but smile. “Perhaps… he likes what he sees.”

“But why would he suddenly like what he sees? He knows you. You look like always. You… oh no.” Gigi made a step back, understanding dawning on her face. “That’s not true. Please say it is not true.”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t got a crush on that shithead?”

“Gigi! Honestly!” 

Gigi rolled her eyes. “Right. I take back the shithead. Is idiot okay?”

“Gigi, once and for all, it’s not his fault that Otis turned out to be a dangerous criminal. He tried to protect you from her. – Anyway. I should be working, not discussing this nonsense with you.”

“You cannot trust a single word he says,” Gigi called behind her as Charlotte was walking away with her tray. She chose to ignore her. Nothing and no one could stop her from floating and smiling on this evening. Not even Lady Denham, who was venturing out into society for the first time after her illness. Accompanied by Esther, the only relative she was on speaking terms with right now, she was reclining in an armchair.

“Good evening, Lady Denham,” Charlotte said. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” The lady of Sanditon took a glass of champagne from her tray. 

“Feeling better? How am I to feel better if my own family conspires and confers around me? You have seen them every day – did you know about this scandalous affair my heir and my niece were entertaining?”

“I believe there is not so much of a scandal when they are both adults, consenting, unmarried and, in this case, not related by blood,” Charlotte said.

“You would make a fine diplomat, Miss Heywood! Painting pink what is black!” Lady Denham shook her head, her discontent clearly visible on her face. “Clara has tricked him! Tricked him into marriage, with the oldest trap available to women, and he has walked into it, eyes wide open. He is not worthy of the Denham title. No, they are both dead to me. - As will be you, Esther, once I have figured out your role in this affair,” Lady Denham added, turning to her niece. Esther looked stunning in another green silk dress, but she also looked quite unhappy. 

“I have no role in this, aunt.”

“Yes, you do. And you better make sure this fine young lordship whisks you away before I find out. – Where is he, by the way?”

“He’ll be a bit late,” Charlotte said. “He called… Mr Parker to say that he had an errand to run that was holding him up.”

“What errand could that be, on a Saturday night in Sussex? He’s a knight errant, indeed.” Lady Denham shook her head in dismay. Apparently, nothing was going to cheer her up this evening. Charlotte left her, walked over to the banqueting galley and took her time to dispose of the empty glasses on her tray.

When she returned to the ballroom, another round of music had started. It seemed as if the whole room was set into motion by a merry reel: Everyone was dancing to a flute’s tune underlaid with drums and strings that were getting wilder with every stroke. Charlotte felt her own feet start moving to the melody when Constable Hankins and Mrs Griffiths passed her in a quick twirl, followed by the unlikely couple of Arthur and Gigi, both of them spinning in ever-faster pirouettes. 

Babington seemed to have concluded the errand that had kept him away, for there he was, in the centre of the dancefloor, whirling Esther around who for once and the first time since Charlotte knew her had a real smile on her face.

All is turning out well, Charlotte thought as she caught Sidney’s eyes from across the dance floor. He was not joining the crowd, but pointing up to the balcony with this head, a sly little smile on his lips. She nodded in consent, hiding the not so small smile that was creeping on her lips.

“Alone at last,” Sidney sighed when she lifted the drapes, immediately taking her hands in his.

“Not so very much alone,” Charlotte said and looked over the balustrade down on the dancing crowd. 

“They are all perfectly diverted.” Sidney pulled her to him and into the shade provided by the drapes. Charlotte leaned a little closer to him, inhaling his scent and enjoying his nearness. How peaceful everything was once they were together. Down on the dancefloor, the music's wild fiddling and drumming were about to reach a climax. 

“Do you remember the last time we were up here?” he asked, carefully tucking a few loosened strands from her ponytail behind her ears.

“Of course I do. I expected you to head straight to your brother and make sure I lost my job.” His lips twitched.

“Actually, I went straight to the gym and made sure the punching ball got a headache. – I was such a preposterous fool, Charlotte.” As if to confirm this statement's correctness, there was a loud crash down on the dance floor. Sidney gazed over the balustrade and sighed once more. “It’s Arthur. He’s stumbled into Manoel and what looks like a mass supply of champagne glasses. – No,” he added, holding her back and shoving them both into the folds of the drapes. “You don’t have to go and look after them. Diana and Gigi are taking care of that.” And as if to make sure that she did not follow her natural desire to help, he tightened his embrace and kissed her. 

Charlotte felt herself and her brain turn into jelly as their tongues met for a dance that was much less innocent than some pirouettes on the dancefloor. “Miss Heywood,” she heard Sidney gasp, his breath tickling her ear, his voice hoarse. “Can you imagine that I went for a walk this morning with a funny little bookworm and came back with the sweetest siren that was ever washed ashore on Sanditon’s beach?”

“I’m not a siren,” she said, slowly returning to reality. They had talked quite a lot down at the cove – apart from kissing quite a lot – but there were still one or two things on her mind that she had to tell him. Yet this was hardly the best occasion to go into such detail.

“You are a siren,” Sidney said. “Even without that gold dress. Probably especially _without_ that gold dress.”

“Sidney!” Charlotte gasped, feeling her ears go pink. She did not wish to sound prim, but she knew that she did, and it embarrassed her. He smiled her embarrassment away.

“You’re right; I better stop behaving like a lovesick teenager in public if I wish to remain in your good graces, Miss Heywood.”

“You’ll always remain in my good graces, Mr Parker,” Charlotte very solemnly said, and, indeed, she found it difficult to think of anything that would make her go off him. 

“Come on.” Sidney took her hand. “Let’s go, find Tom and Mary and tell them the happy news.”

“But didn’t we agree to wait until tomorrow?”

“I see no point in waiting.” His eyes turned dark and serious. “I want to go out onto that dancefloor with you, Charlotte. I don’t want to hide behind some dusty drapes as if there was anything wrong about what we are doing. – Or is that too much, too soon?” he added, suddenly looking doubtful.

Charlotte looked up at his dear, handsome face. Sidney’s face. _Her_ Sidney’s face. Right until this moment, she had had no idea that such happiness was even possible. Reassuringly, she pressed his hand. “It’s not too much. It’s …” She never came to say what it was. Down on the dancefloor, another turmoil was breaking out.

“Esther!” they heard Edward Denham call. “Esther, come out, you miserable creature!”

“Oh no,” Sidney sighed, releasing Charlotte. They exchanged a quick glance, then left the balcony and ran downstairs where Edward, clearly drunk, was spinning around the dancefloor that had emptied very quickly after his arrival. “Esther!” he called again to a crowd staring at him aghast as the music stopped playing. “Hide where you will, the world will see you!”

“Whatever is he talking about?” Charlotte whispered to Sidney, who shrugged his shoulders. 

“I have no idea, but I have a feeling it’s trouble. – Come on, Denham,” he added, striding onto the dancefloor. “Whatever is ailing you, this is neither the time nor the place for it.”

“Go away,” Edward said. “This is about Esther. Where are you hiding?”

“I’m here,” Charlotte heard Esther say. There she was, tearing her hand from Babington’s and walking onto the dancefloor, a regal beauty with her green silk robe and her wavy red hair, yet at the same time looking utterly resigned to her fate as if she was Mary Stuart on her way to the scaffold.

Edward was staring at her, his bloodshot eyes wide open. “It’s all going online now,” he said. “The whole world will see what a wild little beast you are. And your shame will be a thousand times bigger than mine or Clara’s.”

“The man’s deluded,” someone next to Charlotte said. It was Constable Hankins, still clutching Mrs Griffiths hand.

“Then maybe you should do something about it, Constable?” Charlotte suggested. She was a bit afraid of Edward spinning around in his delusion and striking Sidney down. Despite Sidney’s training with the punching ball, Edward appeared taller and stronger to her.

“Do something about it?” The constable was giving her a horrified look. “As a matter of fact, I’m here in a private function, not as a representative of the law…”

On the dancefloor, a representative of a more ancient version of the law took charge of the situation. Lady Denham, tapping her cane on the floor, walked up to her nephew and her niece.

“Edward Denham,” she said. “You tell me immediately what is going on here.”

“Ask her!” he replied, pointing at Esther, who was inclining her head as if expecting the executioner’s blow. Some steps away, Charlotte saw Babington, forcefully held back by Manoel and Mr Parker.

“Esther?” Lady Denham demanded. “If I write your stepbrother and his little strumpet out of my will, you will be my sole heiress. So what is it you are hiding?”

Esther raised her head, silent tears running from her eyes. “Clara has been sleeping with Edward at every opportunity since Easter.”

“I knew it!” Lady Denham forcefully tapped her cane on the floor. Esther continued. 

“She’s been doing it because she hoped to get pregnant, so he would be forced to marry her, and she would gain both the Denham-title and your inheritance.”

“I know that,” Lady Denham said, clearly impatient now. “I can add one plus one. What is your role in all of this, Esther Denham?”

“Yes,” Edward sounded like an evil echo. “What is your role, Esther?”

Esther wiped a tear from her cheek. “I knew it. I found out one evening when I was on the late shift. I wanted to lock the gym and… stumbled across them.”

Just as I did, Charlotte thought. Clara has been doing this all over the hotel on purpose. She wanted to be found out. She looked over to Sidney who was still standing close to Edward, ready to move should he turn violent.

“I knew immediately what Clara’s intention was. So I confronted her,” Esther said.

“You should have come to me,” Lady Denham declared. “I would have set them right, both of them. Did you stop them?”

Esther shook her head, looking down on her feet. “I couldn’t, aunt.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Now Esther’s slender hands went to her face, hiding it as she broke out into violent sobs. On the other side of the dancefloor and amidst a silent crowd of fascinated onlookers, Babington broke free from Manoel’s and Mr Parker’s hold and with determined strides came to her side. “Lady Denham,” he said, putting his arm around Esther’s shoulders and offering her his hand. “This is a conversation we shouldn’t be having in public.”

Lady Denham wrinkled her nose, then nodded. “You’re right. - Mr Parker,” she said, turning to Sidney. “Can I implore on you to make sure Edward gets home and into bed?”

“Of course, Lady Denham,” Sidney said, sending a quick apologetic look to Charlotte and touching Edward by the elbow. “Come on, Edward. Tomorrow is another day.” Edward, all his fire spent, meekly followed him outside.

As soon as they were gone, Tom Parker signalled the musicians to start playing again and drew his wife onto the dancefloor. “A little family quarrel,” he laughed. “Tensions rise, tensions explode, life goes on. – Ha, ha!” Arthur and Gigi were kind enough to follow his example, as were the constable and Mrs Griffiths, and soon enough, the dancefloor was crowded again.

“Miss Heywood!” Lady Denham ordered Charlotte by her side. “You seem sensible enough. Where can we finish this conversation without interruption?”

“I’ll show you to the office,” Charlotte suggested and led the party consisting of Lady Denham, Esther and Babington downstairs to Reception. Babington was still holding Esther by the hand. Esther did not protest.

Charlotte switched on the office lights and wanted to close the door behind her when Lady Denham called her back. “You stay with us, Miss Heywood. I need a voice of reason in this madness.”

“But…” she started, then saw Esther silently nod at her. So she stayed.

“Now, Esther,” Lady Denham said, presiding on Mr Parker’s chair behind his desk. “What is it Clara is holding over you? What does your stepbrother mean by going online?”

Esther sobbed, but after accepting a crisp white handkerchief from Babington and wiping her nose, she managed to look up. “It’s a film. It was … it was after the hotel’s Easter Egg Hunt in April. We had a… little party afterwards at Clara’s place. Just the girls. You know I don’t drink much, aunt, but at the party … looking back, I think Clara set me up for it. However. I got drunk, I was the last one to go home, and before I left, she suggested I tried the toys from her bedside table, and she filmed it.”

Charlotte found herself and Babington staring at Esther open-mouthed. Only Lady Denham appeared outwardly composed. “Her _toys_?” she asked as if she had to make sure. Esther had closed her eyes in pain but opened them for the final confirmation.

“Her sex toys,” Esther said. “Look, I… I don’t wish to make excuses for my behaviour… I…”

“You don’t have to make excuses, Esther,” her aunt said. “And what you’re doing in your private time is nobody’s concern as long as you don’t harm them. – So. Clara set you up for this little experiment, filmed you and afterwards blackmailed you into not stopping her from what was going on with Edward.”

“Yes.”

Lady Denham shook her head. “What a cunning girl she is. – Well. We will not have to worry about Clara Brereton. The likes of her always tend to end up in a lifeboat when the rest of us are drowning. – You look rather shocked, Miss Heywood. Didn’t I tell you that there are no more shining knights about?”

Charlotte was too much in shock for an answer. How could a day that had started in such a lovely way end so terribly? She felt as if she was trapped in a reality show, with intrigues and conspiracies that left her spinning. All she wanted was to have Sidney back, to have him look at her as if she was the only person in the world, to have him kiss her and whisper some nonsense about sirens into her ear. “I’m so sorry, Esther,” she said. “I knew you didn’t get on well with Clara, but I had no idea…”

“You couldn’t, Charlotte,” Esther quietly said. “You’re far too innocent.”

“So this is it.” Babington, who had silently followed Esther’s revelations, looked up. “This is why you wouldn’t let me come close to you. You were ashamed and afraid of what else Clara would do with that dirty little film?”

“Babington…” Charlotte saw the tears return to Esther’s eyes. “You deserve someone better. You are a good man.”

“No, I’m not. Do you honestly think I spent the last years paying pious courtship to devout women?” It was such a strange idea that Charlotte had to smile, and even Esther bit her lip. He picked up the seagull from its place on the desk. “Do you remember what I told you when I gave you this?”

Charlotte did, and after clearing her throat, so did Esther: “You said that love never sees the ugly in the beloved, only the beauty. As you saw in me.”

“As I see in you,” Babington confirmed, returned the wooden Esther to her place and nestled a little parcel out of his pocket. “I saw this at a jeweller’s in Brighton a few weeks ago. Took a little detour tonight to get it. I hoped you might like it better than your wooden namesake. It’s also easier to carry around.”

It was a silver brooch in the form of a seagull spreading its wings, showing every minute detail of the feathers. The bird’s eye, however, was a tiny sapphire. “Babington,” Esther said, holding her breath. “You are mad.”

“Not much more than any other man in love. Can I finally hope for a reply, next time I send you a message?”

Esther wiped the last tear from her eyes. “Yes. Yes, you can,” she said and stepped into his embrace.

“Ahem,” Lady Denham said after a while, and Charlotte, moving discreetly towards the door, added: “I better get back to work. Just switch off the light when you are leaving.”

At this moment, a deafening sound went off.

“What is that hellish noise?” Lady Denham asked, clutching her hands to her ears. 

With two steps, Charlotte was by the fire protection panel.

“It’s a fire alarm… good God, it’s in Regency Row!”


	28. All the Time in the World

It was a quarter past two in the night when the last fire engine drove off the lawn in front of Regency Row. Sidney, battered, drained and exhausted, once more hugged his brother’s shoulders and said: “Go to bed, Tom. It’s over. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”

Tom kept staring at the blackened façade of what had been his beautiful show apartment, incomprehension written all over his face. “Do you think we can save it?”

Frankly, Sidney did not think so, but he was not going to tell Tom – at least not right now. “We’ll find out tomorrow. We’ll sort out everything tomorrow, you’ll see. You try to get some sleep now. It’s going to be a long day.” He led his brother away from the scene and back to the hotel entrance. Mary was waiting for her husband. He slumped into her arms as soon as Sidney released him. 

“We can save it,” Tom told her. “I think we can save it.”

“Of course we can,” she said, sending a doubtful look to Sidney.

He shrugged his shoulders and repeated: “Tomorrow.” He was too tired for anything else. How could a day that had started so happily end in such a disaster? Controlling Edward Denham’s outbursts had been bad enough but returning to the hotel and seeing the fire engines lined up in front of Regency Row as flames were blazing behind the Venetian windows of the show apartment had sent him into a state of defiance. 

Was that fate’s sense of humour? Let him find a few hours of happiness with Charlotte, and make Tom pay for it? Send his family the terminal blow just when he had finally managed to leave Eliza’s spell behind?

Charlotte. Dearest Charlotte, sweet, young and innocent, yet wise, clever and understanding. 

He took the elevator up to the attic and stopped in front of her room, wondering whether she was still awake. Earlier, he had seen her help Manoel get the ball guests off the premises, comfort Mary, and serve nightcaps and calming words to the hotel guests who had started panicking when they heard the fire engines.

He leaned against her door, thinking about how different he had hoped this day would end. Earlier this evening (and with a guilty smile) he had slipped an emergency supply of condoms into his dinner jacket – no obligation, just a precaution, just in case, just to make sure when… _if_ matters took a rapid development during the ball. 

Now that jacket was lost somewhere in the mud left by the firewater on the lawn in front of Regency Row: he had dropped it when he had run after Tom to stop him from entering the burning building. And even if the jacket were not lost, and he still in a romantic mood: right now, he was too exhausted to lift so much as his little finger. So he stepped away from Charlotte’s door, only to find it suddenly opened and himself face to face with her. 

Just one more step and they were in each other’s arms, holding each other, trying to share what remained of their strength, trying to diminish the horror of what had happened. 

“Did you want to come inside?” he heard Charlotte whisper.

“If you’ll have me.” 

She took his hand and led him into her apartment. It was tiny, lit only by a reading lamp on the bedside table, but she had managed to make it her own, with a vase of fresh flowers and a pile of books on the table, a collection of shells on the windowsill and her black service uniform draped over the chair. 

“What’s that?” he asked when he saw a shadow hovering in front of the dark window.

“That’s my personal herring gull. He’s keeping watch over me. Knows all about you. So better don’t open the window. He might turn aggressive.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” He enfolded her in his embrace again, hoping to draw more strength from her. “I don’t think I’m much of a danger to anyone right now. I sense every single bone in my body, and I’m too tired to sleep.” But not too tired to inconspicuously move her towards the bed.

“I see what you are doing, Sidney Parker,” she said, just as he prepared to tumble down with her. 

“Only continuing the conversation from the cove,” he replied, making sure she landed on top of him as they fell onto the bed. She looked down on him, her brown curls brushing his cheeks. He felt her heart thumping against his chest. “What do you think, Miss Heywood?”

“I think you can at least take off your muddy footwear if you wish to occupy my bed.” She rolled off him, and with what he believed was a super-human force, he managed to sit up and remove his shoes. By the time he had got rid of them, Charlotte had snuggled down under her duvet, her hair spread out on the pillow. All he could do was cuddle up next to her and weave his arm around her to make sure she did not fly away.

“This morning I believed this was going to be the happiest day of my life,” he whispered and ever so lightly kissed her on the forehead. “This night, I find my family in the deepest despair possible.”

“Is it really that bad?” she asked, stroking his cheek.

“The show apartment is gone, and the adjoining units are damaged through the firewater. And even the apartments that are unaffected… how are we to sell them with the marks of the fire on the building?”

“So what’s going to happen next?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to find out what caused the fire in the first place. That’s an expert’s work. The insurance is supposed to cover the renovation work and the loss of profit, but you can be sure as hell that they will try to get away with as little expenditure as possible. So there’s a fight ahead of us.”

“And we will have to relocate the bookings.” As always, she was thinking ahead. “If we’re lucky, we can move them to the hotel. However, we will have to reduce the rates and …”

“Charlotte,” Sidney said. “It’s half-past two in the night. I know that if I let go of you, you would run straight down to the office and arrange all these relocations, but for my sake, can you please stay here with me?”

“Just don’t let go of me,” she suggested. He bent forward and kissed her, tentatively moving one hand under her pyjama top. He was still too exhausted for any real exertion, but a little more Charlotte was not the worst thing to find this night, he decided, especially since she seemed to enjoy feeling his hand on her bare skin. Then he remembered the jacket lost in the mud on the lawn and stopped his explorations with a sigh. 

“I had indeed hoped for a different outcome this night,” he said, brushing her cheeks with his knuckles. “But it turns out I’m too drained for anything but some old-fashioned snuggling.” 

To his surprise – and clearly visible despite the dim light of the lamp – she turned the colour of beetroot. 

“Charlotte? Are you alright?”

“I am alright. I was just… err, I mean, I…” He had never seen her that inarticulate, fighting for every syllable while turning from beetroot to overripe beetroot. She was sitting up now, holding her glowing head in her hands. “I didn’t… I better told you… I haven’t…”

Sidney took her hands and removed them from her face. Keeping a firm hold of them while searching her eyes, he asked: “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

She was avoiding his gaze. “I mean I’m well aware that there is an age gap of eight years between us,” she told his elbow. At least a coherent sentence, he thought with relief. “And… well… obviously, you are very experienced…”

“Charlotte,” he said, a suspicion rising in him. “Why are you behaving as if you were a prudish virgin in a Victorian novel?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. Hammering her fists into the duvet, she finally looked up to him. “Maybe because I am a prudish virgin?”

There she was again, his little bundle of contradictions. Courageous, fierce and resourceful. Warm-hearted, emphatic and tender. And innocent in every sense of the word. He was surprised, and he could not help but think that he had expected her to be more experienced, but on the other hand, that was just who she was. 

“Can you at least please say something?” she asked. “Because, really, I’m feeling a bit flustered right now.”

He slowly shook his head, then searched her eyes, raised his hand and as tenderly as carefully touched her cheek. “You don’t cease to amaze me, Charlotte Heywood. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Oh? And when? When you doubted my ability to have any qualified opinion at all? Or when you told me that you never thought of me? Or when you shouted me down on the station square?”

He chuckled. “I was thinking of today, actually. - Anyway. I would lie if I said I wasn’t surprised. But we’ll take our time. In fact, we have all the time in the world. – And now let’s sleep. I really can’t take any more drama tonight.” He reached across her, switched off the lamp on the bedside table, and gathered her so close to him that her hair tickled his nose and her heart thumped against his chest. It was a completely wonderful sensation. If it was going to help make him fall asleep was a different question, though.

*

So. This was done. She had told him, and he had not laughed at her or called her an iron maiden or fled from her altogether. Which she had never expected him to do in the first place. Yet it had taken her some effort. And however natural it felt to be with him, it was still all very new and fresh. 

He was holding her even closer now in the darkness, his breath tickling her ear, his hand entangled in her hair. He was right there, the distant country she so much longed to explore, right here in her arms. Smelling a bit like smoked ham, due to the fire, but mostly of Sidney Parker. 

Tentatively, Charlotte let her hand travel up his biceps and over his chest, feeling the muscles through his shirt. Tight and strong, as expected. _Find a hold on its high ledges ... sink my hands into its earth ... I want to touch its roots..._ She pressed her ear on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Very strong. Very reassuring.

“May I ask you something, Charlotte?” Sidney whispered.

“Of course.” She lifted her head to look at him, even though his face was nothing but a blur in the darkness.

“You don’t have to answer, you know. I only want to make sure… it’s not because you’ve had some bad experiences, is it?”

“No!”

“Good. I was just wondering whether I had to break some scoundrel’s nose. – Would you tell me why, though?”

“It’s… Sidney, this is so embarrassing.”

“Is it? – But why should you be embarrassed, Charlotte? We are both fully clothed.”

“Sidney Parker!” However tired and exhausted they were, it had to be fought out. By the time they concluded that this one was a draw, their breathing had accelerated substantially, and even though they were both still fully clothed, these clothes were sitting rather loose now.

“I’m not part of a strange cult, you know,” Charlotte said after a while. “I’m not sworn to celibacy until my wedding day.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sidney said.

“It … there never was the right moment. I mean, back in school, at a certain age, everyone seemed to be rushing at losing their virginity, as if it was some contest. And as if it did not matter who your partner was. I didn’t like it. That was not my idea of love.”

“Of course not,” she heard Sidney whisper as he carefully touched her cheek.

“I had a boyfriend when I was sixteen. And I believed he was the one. We really wanted to do it… but it was so complicated! He was living with his grandparents, and they were terribly old-fashioned and did not allow him to have “lady visitors” – or a girlfriend for that matter. And I have eight siblings and was sharing a room with two of my sisters… it was practically impossible to find a quiet corner anywhere, and when we did, in our hayloft, my younger brothers and their best friends chose just that afternoon for a game of hide and seek.”

She could feel Sidney trying to suppress a giggle. She tipped on his chest. “Go on. Laugh about me.” 

He did. Finally, he said: “That sounds as bad as being caught out by the laundry delivery man in the linen cupboard.”

“Linen cupboard! That’s awfully clichéd, Sidney.”

“It is, I agree. As is the hayloft. I’ll strive to be more imaginative in the future. – And the hayloft-incident put you off men for the next few years?”

“It didn’t, no. But it was never enough. There was always something missing. And then I moved to Bristol and saw my flatmates go out every weekend and wake up every Sunday with some new Chris or Andy or Danny by their side … I’m sorry I’m such a prim little bore, Sidney.”

“You’re not. Go on.”

“Sometimes I believed I … should just join them and get done with it. Get it fixed, like a leak or a missing lightbulb.”

“That’s not you, Charlotte.”

“No. I realised that very quickly. So. Here I am. Waiting for that special moment with the special someone.” Charlotte drew her breath. The words had been tumbling out of her again. Had she said too much? Was she overwhelming him? 

When Sidney spoke, his voice was a bit husky. “And do you think you have found that special someone now?” 

“Yes,” she whispered. “I am absolutely sure I have.”

He did not answer immediately. After a few moments of silence, he took her hand and placed a kiss on the tip of every single finger. “You’re teaching me humility, Charlotte. Not an emotion I easily recognise. I promise you that you will have your special moment. – Though not tonight.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. 

A little later, he asked: “Charlotte? At what stage in our acquaintance did you come to the conclusion that I was that someone?”

“I believe that was when I first saw your photograph.”

“What?” She smiled to herself. He was just a man, after all. Of course, he had expected some allusion to their encounter at the cove.

“Your photograph in the Parker family gallery? I stumbled across it about half an hour after my arrival. Esther came by while I was staring at it and said some nonsense about me coming to regret ever having set foot in Sanditon. She also said that you were unsteady and unreliable, yet all I could think of was how much I wanted to meet you.”

“I’m… err; I’m sorry I did not quite come up to your expectations during our first encounter. Or during the second. And the third.”

“I suppose that only heightened the suspense,” she said. He chuckled, tickling her ear.

“It did, yes.”

“Let’s not dwell on the past. That’s beyond us.”

“You’re right.” He sighed deeply. “The next weeks will be hard enough. God knows what the fire means for the future of the hotel… but we’ll find out more tomorrow. Let’s sleep now.” They fidgeted around a little until they had both found positions comfortable and close enough.

“Good night, my dearest Miss Heywood,” Sidney said, placing a very chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Good night, my dearest Mr Parker.” She returned the kiss on his stubbly cheek. “Sidney?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for taking me out for a walk this morning.”

“My pleasure, Charlotte.”

And with that, they finally fell asleep.


	29. Seven Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While our two dearest darlings are still peacefully asleep in each other's arms, I’ll take the opportunity to say THANK YOU for all your lovely comments on the previous chapter. “Sweet” is the word I have read several times, and that is just what it was supposed to be.

When Charlotte woke up on Sunday morning, the sun was shining brightly into her room, and she was alone. She needed a moment to collect herself and to understand that Saturday had actually happened – that lovely, lovely walk with Sidney, Esther’s revelations at the ball, the fire, and then again Sidney and everything they had shared during the night. What a cruel sense of humour fate had that it placed both utter misery and absolute happiness so close together!

Charlotte crawled out of her bed and walked over to the window. Her old friend, the herring gull, was gone for once, but someone had shifted the shells on the windowsill and rearranged them in the shape of a heart. She smiled to herself. Somewhere beneath all those jaded layers of Sidney Parker, a person of very deep and romantic feelings was hiding, and she could not wait to discover more of that person.

But not yet. For the moment, the aftermath of the fire was more important. She had a quick breakfast, took a shower and went down to the office. The door was closed, yet even so, the shouting of a violent row could be heard.

“It’s Lady Denham,” Phillida said, for once not checking her phone, but fearfully staring at the door. “She’s been uttering the most horrible threats at Mr Parker. Do you think they still deport people to Australia?”

“No,” Charlotte said. “That’s definitely nineteenth century. And it’s not as if Mr Parker has laid fire to Regency Row himself, is it?”

The door was flung open, making both of them jump. Lady Denham, coming right off the 1066 battlefield judging by her looks, marched outside, wielding her cane like a broadsword. “Miss Heywood! Been eavesdropping?”

“I have only just arrived, ma’am.” Charlotte did not add that eavesdropping was not necessary, given the volume level of the conversation.

“Ah! Charlotte!” Mr Parker called, following Lady Denham to the door. Behind him, the rest of the Parker family became visible: Mary, Diana and Arthur, huddled together, holding each other by their hands, all three of them looking pale and tired, and Sidney, clenching his jaw yet softening around the eyes when he noticed her. “My dear,” Mr Parker said. “Don’t shy away. We have just been discussing the current state of affairs with Lady Denham.”

“State of affairs!” Lady Denham cried. “State of your empty promises, more like! No, Mr Parker, I have had enough of your mollycoddling. I want my investment back, and I want it back right now. I will inform my lawyer accordingly.”

“Lady Denham!” Mr Parker’s mood changed immediately. “I implore on you… this is just a momentary distraction… if you withdraw your investment now, we will be finished by the end of next month.”

“And do you think I care about that, Mr Parker? These past two-hundred years, the Denhams have been prudently guarding their wealth, ready to chip in when another Parker madness threatened to lead to universal misery. – But these times are over now, these times are over. You made sure of it when you fixed the fuse in the show apartment yourself.”

“What?” Charlotte cried horrified. “But that’s a specialist’s work!”

Mr Parker shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t me, it was the gardener,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “He said he knew what he was doing. He did all the electric works in Lydia’s apartment in Brighton.”

“But Mr Hillier is not an electrician either! He’s a bloody gardener!”

Lady Denham shook her head. “And now you have your own trainee yelling at you, Mr Parker. – I’m sorry for you, Miss Heywood. I really have no idea what you are supposed to learn here, apart from how to ruin a business through sheer recklessness.”

“But Lady Denham …,” Charlotte said, still in shock but determined not to give up that easily. “Surely, there must be a way to resolve this without hurting so many innocent people?”

“Innocent people?” Lady Denham echoed. Charlotte felt Sidney’s gaze on her, and his brothers’, and Mary’s, and Diana’s and Phillida’s. Certainly, the reception was not the best place for this discussion, so she walked back into the office, and waited until Lady Denham had followed her and taken a seat again behind Mr Parker’s desk, tapping her cane with impatience.

“If you withdraw your investment now,” Charlotte explained, “it’s not only the Parker family that will be hit but everyone in the hotel. Everyone will lose their jobs… the Beaufort girls, Kamila and the chambermaids, Manoel and all the service staff, the kitchen brigade…”

“And you, Miss Heywood,” Lady Denham added.

“Yes. But my contract is time-limited anyway, and I’m young and flexible and only at the beginning of my career. If things don’t work out here, I will just pack my bag and move on to the next place. But many of the hotel staff have been working here for years, even generations. They don’t deserve being thrown out because someone else has made a terrible mistake. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Denham?”

“Ahem,” Mr Parker said. Lady Denham shot him a look that made him shut up immediately. Then she eyed Charlotte thoughtfully.

“You are a fighter, aren’t you, Miss Heywood?”

“Anyone should fight for a good cause, ma’am.”

“And you believe this hotel is a good cause?”

“It’s a part of Sanditon’s history and tradition. And it’s a place that many people love. So yes, I believe it is a good cause.”

“Very well,” Lady Denham said, pointing her cane at Mr Parker. “Seven days. I will give you seven days, and if by next Sunday, you cannot present a feasible solution for the mess you have created, I will withdraw my money, and it is over for you and your _‘fresh breeze for two-hundred years’_.”

“Thank you, Lady Denham.” Mr Parker folded his hands under his chin and made a subservient bow.

“Don’t thank me yet,” his business partner said and marched out of the office. As soon as she had left, Mr Parker turned around, his face a weak shadow of his usual optimism.

“I knew we would talk her round. How does the saying go? Dogs that bark don’t bite.” He gave a nervous laugh.

“I think we can all agree that it was _Charlotte_ who talked her round,” Sidney said, causing Charlotte to blush. Would he tell them now that… no, of course not. This was not a moment for romance and happy announcements. They had only just begun the fight for the survival of his family’s business. Sure enough, Sidney continued: “And we are far from safe. Or do you have any idea how that feasible solution might look like that Lady Denham is expecting, Tom?”

As his brother only blushed deeply but made no reply, his wife stepped in: “But you must have an idea, Sidney? You’re in the finance business?” Sidney groaned and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I am advising wealthy investors on how to increase their wealth. I have no experience with reckless hotel owners playing Russian roulette with electricity.” He met Charlotte’s gaze. “But yes. I will do my best to help you. I’ll make some calls and go to London tonight.”

“And I’ll start reshuffling the reservations for Regency Row and contacting the guests,” Charlotte suggested.

“Excellent,” Mr Parker said, but it was just a shallow echo of his usual outbursts of enthusiasm.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Diana asked, large-eyed and clearly terrified at the prospect of losing her home.

“Have the punching ball ready for me,” Sidney said. “And Arthur, make sure Charlotte gets an unending supply of Strawberry Secrets.” Arthur looked from him to his eldest brother’s trainee and nodded.

“Anything you want me to do, Sidney?” Mr Parker sounded like an overeager schoolboy.

“Yes, Tom,” Sidney said, looking his brother square in the eye. “Leave us alone and go, play with your children.”

Mr Parker gasped. “I’m still…” he started to say when Mary took him by the arm.

“I think Sidney’s right, Tom. It’s out of your hands now. And you know that Sidney will do all he can to help us survive.”

“Right,” Mr Parker mumbled, staring at his feet. Mary and the Parker siblings filed out of the office, leaving only Sidney with Charlotte. He leaned against the closed door and shook his dear dark curly head.

“It’s worse than I had expected, Charlotte,” he said, holding out his hands to her. She took them, fighting the urge to throw herself into his arms. They were still in her boss’s office, after all. “I had no idea how dependent Tom is on Lady Denham’s investment. And if his own recklessness caused the fire, there is no hope for any insurance covering anything. On the contrary, he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have to face legal charges.”

“And Mr Hillier?” Charlotte asked. “The gardener?”

“Do you think he’ll ever admit to carrying out electrical repairs at Tom’s request? – And even if he did… it wouldn’t pay for the reconstruction of Regency Row.” Sidney sighed deeply. She could not help but move closer and touch him. She so much wanted to help him, to share his troubles and lift the weight of responsibility from his shoulders. He kissed her on the forehead and gave her a sad smile. “At least we managed to sort ourselves out before all that,” he whispered. “I’m so glad you’re with me, Charlotte.” And so was she.

“Anyway,” he said after a moment, returning to business. “I’ll disturb some of my contacts during their Sunday rest and try to set up appointments in London for tomorrow.”

“I wish I could go with you,” Charlotte said. He gave her another sad smile and with his thumb, brushed over her dimple before placing a soft and tender kiss on her mouth.

“Yes. I’d wish that too, my dearest Miss Heywood. But I fear your good senses and your lovely smile are needed here right now.”

They enjoyed a few more sweet moments of each other’s company before Sidney released her. “Let’s get to work, Admiral Heywood.”

*

Charlotte spent the next few hours alone in the office, calling up guests and trying to relocate their bookings from an apartment to a hotel room, offering upgrades, discounts and free cancellations along the way. It was a frustrating job to do, lightened up only by the company of the wooden Esther sitting on her desk and by Arthur sneaking in and placing a plate with three Strawberry Secrets on her desk. Otherwise, she was left alone until Sidney came in once more.

“I’m off to London now. I thought you might like a private good-bye better than the big family send-off.”

“Did you reach all the people you wanted to?” she asked, trying to be professional, not emotional.

“Some. It’s going to be a busy few days, but there is some hope.” He smiled and leaned next to her on the desk. “I’ve been through the tax reports of the last decade. We’ve always had one or two difficult years in between, but the hotel used to be a healthy business in general. It was only when Tom started the Regency Row project to add his name to the long list of Parker men shaping Sanditon that things took a turn to the worse. And then Mary leaving the accounting to him before Jamie’s birth… that was the final straw.”

 _“It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us,”_ Charlotte said. Sidney took her hand, playing with her fingers.

“It is indeed. How very wise you are, Miss Heywood. And it looks as if too many people will have to pay the price for Tom’s vanity.”

“Did you…” Charlotte cleared her throat, blushing a little. “Did you tell them about us?” He twitched his mouth, but in a way that was sad, not enervating.

“Very nearly did, but – no. Didn’t seem the right thing to do: _Look, Tom, Mary, Arthur, Diana, you might be losing your home, but I’ll be off over the rainbow with Charlotte._ ”

“I like that image.” Charlotte smiled despite a very, very small pang of disappointment. “Over the rainbow.”

“When I come back,” he said, gripping her hand very tightly now, “we’ll find a good moment to tell them. A happy moment.” 

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed as he proceeded to make the present moment a little happier.

“You gave me a fright with what you told Lady Denham about being flexible and packing your bag and moving away to another place,” he said, gathering her very close to him.

“That was just in theory and for the sake of the good cause. I don’t intend to move anywhere unless it’s because you are waiting for me there.”

“Good,” Sidney said. “We’ll have all the time in the world,” he promised before kissing her one last time. “Good-bye, Charlotte,” he finally said, slowly letting go of her.

“Good-bye, Sidney.”

A few minutes later, she heard the Aston Martin’s motor roar up on the gravel outside, and he was gone.


	30. Something's Coming Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sense some anxiety in your comments, my dear readers.  
> Please bear two things in mind: Firstly, this is chapter 30 of 40 (or probably 41, as I’m restructuring the final a little). There are plenty of chapters left to rectify whatever is going wrong now.  
> Secondly: “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire”. That’s what Janes Austen herself says on the matter of happy endings. And I fully agree with her. The trouble she mentions may, however, have grown a bit bigger during the last 200 years.

Work proved to be the perfect cure against anxiety about the future and the pain of separation, so work was what Charlotte plunged herself into over the next few days. There was enough to do. Everyone at the hotel knew about Lady Denham’s ultimatum, and apart from calming the Parker family’s nerves, Charlotte spent hours convincing her colleagues that all was not lost, not yet. Even Doktor Fuchs told her that he was “ _ein kleines bisschen_ worried” and believed his groups were cursed – first the flooding at his previous hotel in Brighton, now the fire at the Sanditon Grand.

The only person that was not worried, but angry as usual was Gigi. She was still employed in breakfast service and informed Charlotte every day that she was a fool to have trust in anything, be it the future of the hotel or the judgement of her own stupid heart. “Are you so brainwashed that you have forgotten what I have told you about Mr Silly Car and Number Two?” she asked on Tuesday morning.

“No, I’m not,” Charlotte said. “We have talked about it, and we’re done with it.” Gigi rolled her eyes.

“He’s filled your head with candyfloss, that’s what he’s done.” 

Charlotte did not bother with another reply. They had talked about Number Two during their Skype call on Monday night, after Sidney’s first round of appointments with potential investors. It had been a frustrating day for him, and she was endlessly sorry to see him so depleted. So she had asked him whether the solution was not staring them in the face, whether it was not Gigi’s father who could save them. Sidney had sighed deeply.

“Well, first of all, he is still somewhere out on the Pacific Ocean, and I have no idea how to reach him. And even if I did reach him, you don’t discuss a spontaneous investment of several million pounds on ship’s radio. – Then there is also the undeniable fact that I’ve messed up terribly with Gigi.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Charlotte said. “Otis is the criminal, not you.”

“And yet I cannot go to her father and say _I’m sorry, I let your only daughter run away with a dangerous criminal, but can you please lend me seven million pounds to help me save my family’s hotel?”_

Seven million pounds! Charlotte gasped. That was much more than could be funded by selling his beloved car or the London flat.

On-screen, Sidney looked down at his invisible feet. “And finally, there’s the matter of Marissa,” he said.

“Is she…”

“Yes. My indelicate affair. Gigi’s stepmother.”

“She calls them by numbers.”

“I know. Number Two. - Such a cliché, Charlotte.” He looked down again, evading her gaze on the monitor.

“You or her?” Charlotte said.

“Both of us. The bored, young, unhappy wife and her elder husband’s protégé.”

“Then why did it happen?”

“I think she was mad about me the moment I came on board.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said. “Gigi mentioned something like that.”

Sidney ran his hands through his hair and kept his palms pressed to his forehead for a moment, evidently finding it difficult to meet her gaze. “Look, Charlotte… I don’t know what Gigi has told you, and I don’t want to put myself in a better light, but… she might have exaggerated some details. We tried to be discreet.”

“And yet, Gigi found out.” There was no reproach in her voice. She was very calm, and he finally managed to look at her.

“Yes. I was such a bored idiot, flying high on the money I made. I had bought the Aston Martin just a few weeks before. I believed my professional success was making me the best version of myself, but I was so wrong.” He shook his head, staring to the side as if watching a version of that past self in the distance. Then he returned to Charlotte. “There was something about Marissa that reminded me of Eliza. Same type. Blond, petite. Elegant. But in contrast to Eliza, she did not run away from me. All I had to do was to pick up her signals and return them. It was a game, a pastime, a diversion. Something to satisfy my lust but not my mind. – I’m sorry I’m such a shallow disappointment, Charlotte. I gather this is quite the kind of relationship you would recoil from.” 

It was indeed, yet Charlotte had something different in mind. “Stop justifying yourself to me, Sidney Parker,” she said. “I’m not the party that was hurt. - Do you want to know what I am thinking?”

“I’ve always been ready to give a penny for your thoughts, Miss Heywood.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Even if I did not always appreciate them in the way they deserve.”

“You said yourself that she reminded you of Eliza. And I think there is something about Eliza that drips into you like a poison. And that poison stops you from being your own true self and makes you ugly and bad. You turned wild when she left you, and you cheated on your paternal friend because his wife reminded you of her. When you saw Eliza again, you left me standing on that dance floor in London as if I was a misplaced parcel, and when you brought her to Sanditon …” 

On-screen, Sidney was shaking his head at the painful memory of that evening. “I know. My behaviour towards you was despicable.”

“Then keep away from her,” Charlotte said. “For I believe her poison is deadly.”

On Tuesday night, he was even more depleted during their Skype call, but this time, his topic was not Eliza but his brother. “I had no idea Tom’s reputation was so tarnished in Sanditon and beyond,” he told her. “The fire has extinguished whatever was left of it. He seems to be blacklisted witch all craftsmen in Sussex. And his deal with Hillier… that’s nothing but criminal.”

“How exactly?”

“I recalled overhearing you on the phone with Lydia, discussing a social media concept, and that it struck me as somehow odd back then.” Charlotte nodded. She remembered the occasion very well. After all, that was when their relationship had started to improve, at least temporarily: Sidney had come to the office to pick her up for the big welcome of Doktor Fuchs, and they had shortly spoken about the hotel’s social media channels. “So I looked a little further into the matter,” he continued now, “and it turns out the gardener never charges my brother for his services, but his daughter does for her non-services. In short, he does the gardening for free, plus some odd jobs, and in return, my brother funds his daughter’s studies, and all three of them have a little dance around the tax office. – Which is probably also the reason why Hillier offered to stand in as electrician.”

Charlotte did not know what to say. The real-life Tom Parker was recovering from the shock and Lady Denham’s blows and was walking about his hotel as if the fire had merely created a momentary inconvenience that his brother would safely fix. However, outside in the real world, his employees quietly started looking for new jobs, and his wife considered walking out on him. Charlotte had overheard her talking to Diana in the gym that morning: “I’m only staying because I know it would break him if I left, and I don’t want to do that to him or the children.”

“And there goes my brother’s happy marriage,” Sidney said when Charlotte told him. She nearly caressed the screen when she saw his saddened face, and more than ever she wanted to be with him, share a bit of her strength and optimism with him, support him in his efforts to save the hotel.

On Wednesday afternoon, Charlotte took the children to the Sanditon museum and a treat at the Study Café. Initially, she had hoped for another afternoon on the beach, but since the weather did not comply, they switched plans. Mary suggested a DVD afternoon watching Finding Nemo (the only film Jenny, Alicia and Henry would agree on, squawking happily like seagulls). Charlotte, however, wanted to leave the glum atmosphere of the hotel behind for a few hours, so she opted for the museum. 

The Sanditon museum made a great point of being child-friendly and had only recently reopened the modernised section for the giant sea serpent's tale. Jenny, who had dealt with the story in school, gave her siblings a gruesome account of the serpent’s rage that could only be pacified with the sacrifice of an innocent.

“But as in any good tale, there is an uplifting part as well,” Charlotte said when she saw Henry and Alicia close to tears.

“Is there?” Jenny asked.

“Of course there is.” Charlotte showed them the final panel that depicted a slain sea serpent. “One year, when the sea serpent demanded the sacrifice of a particularly lovely girl, a valiant boy from the village confronted the monster and in an epic battle, fought it down. He married the lovely girl, and they became the ancestors of the Denham family.”

“Is that why Lady Denham looks like a dragon?” Alicia asked. 

“I don’t think so.” Charlotte laughed.

The afternoon with the children was another welcome distraction in a week full of sorrows. During their Skype call that evening, Sidney was very quiet. He did not say it, but Charlotte sensed that he was losing hope. He had knocked on so many doors, and one after another, they had been closed into his face when his potential partners heard about the fire. “The only parties interested are investors from Russia or China,” Sidney told Charlotte. “But that would be the end of the Parker family at the Sanditon Grand Hotel.”

“And you never want to be the generation that crashes two-hundred years of family tradition,” Charlotte repeated the omnipresent Parker mantra. Sidney nodded.

“It’s not only that. I know I’m the one who consciously ran away from the family business, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand what the hotel means to my siblings. It’s their home, it’s the place where they feel safe and happy… and it’s the place connected to our parents.” He looked down, and more than ever before Charlotte wished she could just reach through the screen and touch him, take him in her arms and tell him how much he was loved. For if there was one topic that truly pained the Parker siblings even though they never discussed it, it was the fact that they had lost their parents at such a young age, their mother dying of cancer when Arthur was only six, their father dropping dead in the lobby from a heart attack ten years ago. When Sidney looked up again, his eyes were shimmering.

“Sidney…” Charlotte started saying, wondering how to tell him that his parents certainly would not have expected him to take the whole world onto his shoulders. “Tom, Diana and Arthur are your siblings, not your children. And even if they were your children, you could not protect them forever.” His mouth twitched. 

“I know. I keep telling that myself. Diana might pull through, somehow, but Arthur… always missing his tests for diabetes, loving his pastry so much... I can’t imagine how he would fare in a less protected environment. And Tom… Tom saved me when Eliza went on her ego trip.” Charlotte nearly rolled her eyes. Not that woman again. “I may not be here without Tom,” Sidney went on. “And now his life will be effectively over if he loses the hotel. He will not be able to bear the shame and leave Sanditon. But can you think of any other place that would recruit him as a hotel manager? He’ll be losing his job, his income and his reputation, not to mention his wife and children; he will have to live with the fact that he was the one who crashed the family business, and his professional future will be restricted to some low-paid service jobs. Whether she stays with him or not, Mary will have to work full-time, and Jenny, Alicia, Henry and Jamie will have anything but the happy childhood we had.”

“You’re the best brother Tom could wish for, Sidney,” Charlotte said. “But he’s old enough to face the consequences of his actions. – And I should know something about brothers. I have four myself.” He gave her a tender little smile. 

“And I’m dreading the day I have to meet them. And your father.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just bring your beautiful car and don’t listen when Joe and Dan start discussing which bull to castrate next.” For a short and precious moment, Sidney stopped looking sad and worried but laughed. Then he returned to the bleak reality.

“There is someone else who I hoped might be able to help us,” he said. “Have you ever spoken to Lady Worcester since the open-day?”

“No,” Charlotte admitted. “In fact, she never gave me her phone number or a card. She just appeared like the fairy godmother and was a friend to me when I was in desperate need for one – and then she was gone again.” Which was a pity, since now that everything was turning out so well with Mr Sidney Parker, she would have loved to let Susan know. “But even if I knew how to reach her… how could I repay her kindness by asking her whether she has some million pounds floating around ready to be put into your brother’s hotel business?”

“You’re right. It’s the same situation as with George Lambe and me.” He sighed deeply but suddenly broke into a rather mischievous smirk. “Charlotte… I’ve wanted to ask you for weeks… what was it you were discussing about me when I found you in Lady Worcester’s company at the premiere party?”

“Oh.” Charlotte felt her ears go pink. “That was… well, she said that I seemed somewhat befuddled, and I… she was a complete stranger after all, and I thought that she might be a better judge on my state of mind than I was, so I told her… I told her that there was this man who inspired an anger in me I did not know I possessed, yet that his good opinion mattered more to me than anybody else’s.”

“That’s what you told her?” It was good to see him grin so happily at the end of such a difficult day.

“Yes.”

“And what did she say?” 

“She gave me a very benevolent smile and said she believed I was in love with… that man. And when I replied that that was out of the question, she smiled even more and told me that love was an affliction.”

“An affliction,” Sidney repeated, his smile growing even wider. “When do you expect to recover?” 

“I think it’s becoming a chronic disease,” Charlotte admitted, and then for quite a while, they both did not say anything but just kept looking at each other, overcome with their feelings and their longing for each other. 

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Sidney finally said with a very hoarse voice.

And then, on Thursday afternoon, the search for an investor took a positive turn. Instead of a video call, Charlotte received a voice message from Sidney, telling her that something had come up. He would be in a meeting until late at night, and he missed her and thought of her. Promising as it was that “something had come up”, it left Charlotte alone with her thoughts, a cheesy poem and an old herring gull that was peeping through her window.

Her phone pinged, but it was still no message from Sidney, but her sister Alison’s new trademark question of “Who is that arm?”, referring to the picture from the London premiere party showing her in the dazzling gold dress plus Sidney Parker’s arm. Usually, Charlotte ignored this question, but this time and with a tiny smile, she typed: _It’s a handsome arm on a handsome shoulder._ Ten seconds later, her phone buzzed again. 

_Alison: Charlotte!!!!!1!!_

_Charlotte: And a very handsome head on a handsome neck attached to handsome shoulders._

_Alison: Charlottee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Whatsis NAME????_

_Charlotte: What happened to your spelling?_

_Alison: I’m excited! My bigsister is inn love! WHO IS HE??? Picture, plesae!!!!!_

_Charlotte: He’s not here at the moment, but I’ll send you a picture when we’re together again._

_Alison: CHARLTOTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

Charlotte smiled and switched first her phone off and then the light. Friday was going to be another long day, and the coming night, just as the previous nights, would be filled with memories and restless dreams of distant countries.

*

Friday started with Charlotte first staring out of the window into a sky that had gone cloudy, then staring at her phone. She had hoped for some overnight success news from Sidney, but the only text she had was from James, and it was a sad one: his father had lost the fight against his illness and passed away the previous afternoon. 

As it was too early for a call, she composed a short condolence message and asked James to contact her whenever he felt like it. Then she went down to work. It was the last day of the month, so there was plenty to do and to prepare. Sidney had asked her to ensure every department took a full and correct inventory – a task that had been interpreted very creatively over the last few months but was all the more crucial now that the hotel’s financial future was on the line.

Mr Parker was not much of a help, shaking his head as he was leafing through the lists the printer kept spitting out. “All this paperwork… do you think this is really necessary, Charlotte?”

“I think it’s best to do exactly as your brother says,” she replied. Since learning about his role in the fire, she found it difficult to treat him with the respect he deserved as her boss.

“Yes, of course. He’s the expert. – But he is not an expert for the hotel industry, is he?”

Thankfully, her phone started buzzing. Still no message from Sidney, but James again, asking whether he could meet her for a walk later in the afternoon. _Of course_ , she typed back. _Anytime you like, James._

And since she was at it, she quickly told Sidney that she was thinking of him and wished him the best of luck and every success for his subsequent meetings over the day. For a second, before hitting the “send” button, she considered adding “I love you” to the text but then decided against it. That was something one better said face to face to each other. It was Friday already, so she only had to wait two more days at maximum until she could hold him again and tell him that and how much she loved him. The sheer thought of it made her smile.

“Charlotte?” Somehow, the office had filled with Parker siblings while her mind had been travelling to a distant country. “Is everything alright?” Mary asked her. 

“Yes. You were saying?” It was actually the day of Arthur’s latest appointment with his doctor for having his blood sample taken, and this time, the Parker ladies were determined to make sure he did not miss it. They were enrolling Tom Parker to drive them into town, calling it a family excursion, and despite Mr Parker’s protests that he could not be spared from the end of months’ proceedings, he relented after a bit of fuss and left with them. 

Charlotte was grateful, for now, the office was quiet and peaceful, and she could work with only the usual interruptions of the landline ringing or someone from the staff asking for advice or a piece of information. Occasionally, she checked her phone, quietly apologising to Julia and Phillida for having criticised them so often for precisely the same behaviour. Yet, whenever she looked, there was no reply from Sidney. 

When she was ready to call it a day in the late afternoon, there was a soft knock on the door, and James walked in, looking saddened and downcast. “Oh, James!” She was with him in a moment and gave him a long and tight hug. “I’m so sorry for you.”

“Thank you, Charlotte. I suppose for my father it is what they call a relief, but yet… yet…” Charlotte saw tears rising to his eyes and took his hands.

“He was your father, James. One of the two first people in your life to know and love you. Cry as much as you need.” Which he did, holding on to her hands and shaking like a little boy. Finally, he blew his nose.

“Still care for a walk, Charlotte?”

“Very much. If you like to. – I’ll just have to change into something more comfortable.”

“I’ll wait for you outside.”

The tide was out, and the wind had strengthened. “There’s a storm coming,” James said, leaning against the gusts. It was cold out on the mudflats, and the wind kept tearing at their jackets, but it was also good to be blown through like that, to have all emotions and memories whirled away. They didn’t say much, and there was no need to say much, anyway. Charlotte felt that all James wanted was her company, and she was happy to provide him with that. 

Every now and then, she glanced at the phone in her pocket, but there were no messages, apart from Alison asking “His NAME?” again. She took that as a positive sign. It meant that whatever had come up on Thursday was promising enough to keep Sidney busy all Friday.

“You know what’s eating me?” James asked when they returned to the beach. Charlotte shook her head. “That offer from the architect in Vancouver. I couldn’t have accepted it as long as my father was alive, but now that he’s gone, I believe l I cannot accept it either. It feels as if I have only been waiting for him to be gone.”

“But James… you must accept it. Maybe not right now, but in a few weeks… it’s such an opportunity for you.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Do you want me to be gone?”

“Of course not! I’ll be missing you. And our lunches. But I want you to succeed, and to make the best of your talent. Vancouver! Just think of it!”

“And what about you, Charlotte? Your talents? Are you going to keep wasting them on Tom Parker’s crumbling hotel business?”

“It’s not a crumbling business. Sidney will find a way to save it.”

“Sidney, eh?” Charlotte felt her ears go red. James sighed. “You two are not on fighting terms any longer, are you?”

“Not… exactly,” she conceded.

“He’s a lucky man. I’ve been sure of that since the open-day. – So you’ll be staying in Sanditon? Or join him in London?”

“I don’t know yet. We haven’t really talked about it. It’s all… very fresh. We haven’t even told his family.” In fact, Charlotte noticed, the only person who knew anything was Gigi – but even Gigi was more guessing than knowing.

James did not say anything until they had left the beach and climbed the steep trail back to the cliff. Up there, he hugged her once more before turning to the public footpath leading towards the town. As Charlotte watched his broad-shouldered figure disappear down the slope of the hill, she slowly came to understand that he was not only mourning the loss of his father. 

He was so nice, and she really liked him, but he would never be… Sidney Parker! She nearly stumbled over her own feet when she saw the Aston Martin parked on its customary space next to the entrance. 

He was back! She quickly checked her phones for any messages, but there were none. A surprise visit then. And what a wonderful surprise!


	31. The Return of the Giant Sea Serpent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Well, well, well.  
> OK.  
> The moment has come.
> 
> I'll delay it a little by saying how special it was to read your comments and to see how you engage with the story and our two lovely main protagonists.
> 
> However. 
> 
> I’m going into hiding now. You’ll find me down by the cove, under one of the rocks, pretending to be a crab.  
> And if you listen very closely, you’ll hear me whining very softly: But it’s only chapter 31. Of 40!

Invigorated by her walk with James and with a racing heart, Charlotte dashed into the lobby but found the reception desk deserted. Julia was standing by the open office door, listening in to a most animated Parker family discussion. No shouting this time, but laughter and chatter all around.

“It’s so exciting,” Julia told Charlotte, clapping her hands, her eyes gleaming. “We are going to be a film location.”

“A film location?” Charlotte repeated, gaining Mr Parker’s attention. He was very much his former self now, radiating with wiry energy.

“There you are, my dear! Splendid! Come in! – Thanks to my brother’s efforts, we are about to open a new exciting chapter in the long and rich history of the Sanditon Grand Hotel.”

“Are we,” Charlotte said. Catalogue speech, again, she thought. Never a good sign. But Sidney was there, leaning on his brother’s desk, turning his back on her. Mary and Diana were clinging to his right and left arm and showering him with all the endearments he undoubtedly deserved, even though Charlotte would have much preferred it if she were the one to apply them.

“I may come to set up my own Instagram profile,” Arthur told her thoughtfully. Charlotte smoothed her tousled hair, trying to understand what was going on. 

“Is the hotel going to be the set for a period drama?”

“Better, my dear, much better!” Mr Parker cried. “Who cares about stuffy period dramas full of dead people? It’s the here and now that counts, the real life. We, my dear, are going to star in our own reality show. We are going to be… well, maybe not quite the Kardashians of the United Kingdom, - but we are going to be famous.”

“Famous,” Charlotte repeated, and as Sidney finally and slowly turned around to face her, she added: “I don’t understand.”

“My genius of a little brother,” Mr Parker said, patting his genius of a little brother’s back, “has found a new investor. And in co-operation, they are selling our story to a TV production company. In return, the production company will vouch for a credit to reconstruct Regency Row. Just think of all the publicity we will receive once we are on nationwide TV!”

“And what’s the downside?” Charlotte asked. There had to be a downside. Why else would Sidney clench his jaw, evade her gaze and hold his shoulders at such a tight-set level?

“There is no downside, my dear,” Mr Parker said. “Apart from the interest I have to pay for the credit… but that’s something I’m used to.” He gave a hearty laugh and then exclaimed: “Come on, everyone! Let’s celebrate. Mary, get the kids, we’ll enjoy champagne and dinner in the Conservatory.” Mary cast Charlotte a quick, nearly apologetic glance and then left. Her husband was still amazed at the turn of events. “To star in a reality TV show! That’s a surprise career step, isn’t it, Charlotte?”

More than anything, it was a career step Charlotte did not intend to take.

“Tom,” Sidney said, his voice oddly hoarse. “Why don’t you all go ahead and have dinner, and I’ll explain everything to your trainee.”

 _To your trainee_. It was like a direct punch into her stomach.

Charlotte knew something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong, even before Arthur and Diana had filed out of the office, and Mr Parker had closed door behind him with a conspiratorial wink.

“Sidney,” she said, moving towards him, trying to catch what was between them before it was too late. He turned his head away, moving it slowly as if he was a wounded animal, and stretched out his arm to keep her at a distance. “Sidney,” she gasped, tears welling up to her eyes. “What have you done?”

Finally, he looked at her, his eyes dark with guilt. “My dearest Charlotte.”

She made a step back. No, this was not true, this was not true, it could not be true- 

His voice was drained of any emotion now. “I have found two new investors, and we have come up with a financial solution that will satisfy Lady Denham and promote the hotel to completely new target groups.” 

“Who are the new investors?” Charlotte whispered, even though she knew part of the answer already. 

“It’s a production company called Mars Pictures. They will produce the TV show and back the credit to make sure we have the financial means we require to continue.” He sighed. “And there’ll be another investor to guarantee the cash flow.” There was a pause as he kept on looking at her, his expression so sad and yet full of intent. Charlotte shook her head.

“mrscampion,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I see.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. But bad as it was, they still had each other. She held out her hand to him.

He was ignoring her hand. “You don’t, Charlotte.” When he looked at her now, his face reminded her for a split second of the man who had belittled her judgement and told her he did not care about her. And just like back then, she suddenly felt being made responsible for something she was not responsible for. Sidney continued. “The hotel is going to be the background for a reality series based on Eliza’s new life as an influencer, designer, and … well, newly discovered hotelier.”

“Are you trying to tell me that she will be hanging around here all the time, giving orders?”

“Yes. And there needs to be some sort of background story.” 

Charlotte thought that this was already enough of a story, and a rather lousy story, come to that. mrscampion, newly discovered hotelier who had no idea at all about the hotel industry. Who, in a first step, would probably ban all piping bags from the kitchen and order the extinction of the local gull population.

“Eliza set two conditions to agree to the deal,” Sidney explained. “The first one is that the story is about –” He looked down, and only after a second went on. “About her. And me. About meeting after eight years of separation. Getting to know each other again and trying to… reset our lives.” 

“What?” 

He had to be kidding her. This was crazy for so many reasons that all she could do was laugh about it. Her laughter faded when she saw the pained expression on his face, his inability to meet her eyes. 

“What have you done, Sidney?” she asked once more, her question merely a breathless whisper now.

“I’m trying to ensure that our hotel stays in the family,” he firmly said, his jaw clenched. “I’m hoping to keep our employees’ jobs, and the only home Arthur, Diana, Tom and the kids know. I’m hoping to save Mary’s marriage, and I’m repaying my brother for setting my life in the right direction eight years ago.”

“And you’re dumping me,” she quietly added, finally grasping the full horror of the situation. The giant sea serpent was ravaging Sanditon’s shores once again, and it demanded the sacrifice of an innocent to be appeased.

“No, Charlotte, no.”

“Then why can’t you look me in the eye? Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on? Why did you not reply to my messages all day?”

Sidney hung his head. His dear dark curly head. She felt the overwhelming need to step forward and touch him, and at the same time, she knew that it would be absolutely wrong to do so now.

“There is a secret clause in the contract,” he said, indeed not meeting her gaze. “Tom doesn’t know about it. It’s Eliza’s second condition.”

“What is it?” she asked, though again, she knew the answer.

“It’s about you.” Now he did look her in the eye, and the pain she saw in his face made her gasp. “You’ll receive three full salaries as compensation, but you’ll have to be gone from Sanditon before filming starts in September.”

“I see,” Charlotte whispered, barely able to speak. He had sold her. The man she loved, the man she wanted to be with more than anything in the world, had sold her for the future of his family and the Sanditon Grand Hotel. And was selling himself to mrscampion.

“Charlotte.” Now he closed the gap between them and stood right in front of her, facing her. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a silly TV show. I haven’t promised to marry her or anything.”

“Are you really that naïve?” Beyond the shock, there was the anger. It was surging up in her now, and that was a good thing: shock was paralysing, but anger was energising. “Of course, she wants you for herself. A pretty poster boy for her Instagram stories and her stupid TV program!”

“I’m not hers, and you know that.” He took her by the shoulders, searching her gaze. “I’m yours, Charlotte. We can still be together. Afterwards. Out of sight. When I’m in London.”

“I don’t want to be with you hiding somewhere out of sight as if we were doing something forbidden!” This was utterly surreal. If she was a twenty-first-century girl, why was she living through the nightmare of a Victorian novel’s heroine right now? 

“Charlotte, once the show is finished...” 

“Do you not remember her, parading around the hotel grounds on the open-day? Telling me how disagreeable it was to do a slave’s work, but how compelling it would be to be the owner of such a place? That’s what she wants! Make use of the hotel as a place to promote her ugly handbags and her bloody home accessories while she can play queen!”

“Charlotte…”

“She’s not just going to check out one day like any other guest – she’s going to stay.” There they were again, those treacherous tears, making her feel vulnerable and helpless. “And don’t flatter yourself that she cares about you, Sidney Parker. For if she did, she would not ask such a ridiculous price of you. - Love is selfless,” she added, the tears running down her cheeks openly now. “Love is about giving, not about demanding.” And love, she remembered, came in many forms. For a man or a woman. But also for a child, a brother, a sister. A parent, a grandparent. A friend. An animal. A place. Like the Sanditon Grand Hotel. 

And somewhere beneath her pain and her perplexity Charlotte understood that Sidney Parker was about to commit the most stupid and most selfless act of his life. Out of love for his family.

The man who two months ago had asked Mary whether the girl by her side was the new babysitter would have laughed at the notion. He would have put on his sunglasses and raced away in his flashy car. The Sidney Parker in front of her, the Sidney willing to protect his family at all costs, was a better version of that man. And he was nothing but her own creation.

She tumbled back but was caught by him. “Charlotte…” he whispered, gathering her close to him and starting to kiss her tears away. “We will find a way to be together, I promise.” For a few precious moments, she allowed herself to believe him, and she responded to his kisses even more fervently now that they carried the bitter taste of loss.

Three sharp knocks on the office door propelled her back into reality and two steps away from him. It was Arthur, sticking in his friendly face.

“Sorry… didn’t mean to disturb, but starters are about to be served.”

“We are coming,” Sidney said, looking at Charlotte. She quickly wiped her eyes.

“Actually, I… err, I had a rather urgent call from my sister which I have to return first, but I might join you later.”

“Very well.” Arthur smiled. “We are having my new brioche treacle tart with clotted cream and orange sauce for pudding. I’m sure you don’t want to miss that.”

“Certainly not.”

“Do you think these film people might be interested in my baking? Imagine if I could share some of my…”

“Arthur,” Sidney cut in. 

“I really need to make that phone call,” Charlotte said. “If you’d be kind enough to leave me alone.”

Sidney followed his brother to the door but turned around to her again before he left. “This isn’t over. We’ll continue our conversation later,” he firmly said.

Once they were both gone, she sank in Mr Parker’s office chair and exhaled deeply, trying to make sense of the devilish choice they were facing. There was no way to perfect happiness. Even if she managed to talk Sidney out of this silly reality TV deal, even if he decided to leave Tom alone with the fate his recklessness had brought upon them all: they could never be together in a carefree, happy manner now. Sidney would always be left with a feeling of guilt towards his family, and that guilt would doom his relationship with her.

So that was Eliza’s poison. Elegantly injected, raising Sidney’s hopes for a favourable outcome for his brother, yet killing all his happiness as it took effect.

She looked up and found the wooden Esther staring at her. Babington had said that love never saw the ugly, only the beautiful in the beloved. But Babington, dear man that he was, was also such a romantic fool.

There certainly was some superficial beauty in Sidney’s love and loyalty for his family. But it was nothing but a pretence of beauty, a reflection fooling the mind. If one looked closer, it was love bought for the price of ugliness and monstrosity.

 _Be careful,_ Charlotte heard her father say, and finally, his warning made sense. One more step forward, and she would find herself entangled in mrscampion’s world.

So: no. She would step back. And draw a line under the chapter that was Sanditon.

*

At about twenty to seven on the following morning, Charlotte opened the window of her attic apartment and took a deep breath of sea air. As James had predicted, there had indeed been a storm during the night, clearing the sky and leaving this morning’s breeze particularly salty and fresh. 

She had one final look over the sea, the town and the green hills of the Sussex Downs, taking it all in, making sure it would remain in her memory forever. How much she had come to love this view – but it was not hers any longer. Against the squawking protest of the old herring gull sitting in the gutter, she closed the window and drew the curtain.

She had to leave. Now. Before anyone could pay her for leaving. That was her only option if she wanted to keep what little Eliza bloody Campion had left her of her self-respect.

The previous evening, sitting numbly in the office chair and staring at a wooden seagull, her phone had buzzed her back into reality.

“ _HIS NAME!”_ Alison demanded once more, making Charlotte’s tears finally flow again. She left the office and shuffled over to the elevator, not wishing to meet anyone.

“Charlotte, are you not joining the family in the Conservatory?” Julia called out to her.

“Actually, I have a bit of a headache,” she told the elevator door. It was not even a lie. She felt as if the giant sea serpent had mangled her. “Would you let them know? - I’ll see you all tomorrow.” _That_ was a lie.

Back in her apartment, she switched off her phone, wrote a short letter and packed up what little she had before drifting away in a restless doze. At some stage, she heard some violent knocking on her door, and she heard Sidney call her name and ask her to talk to him, but she hid her head under the pillow and put her earplugs in, and after what felt like half an eternity, the knocking subsided, and she cried herself to sleep. Later during the night, she woke up because there was a strange thumping noise on the corridor, but then it stopped again. 

Now, in the morning, it was time to leave. She placed the letter addressed to Mr Tom Parker against the vase on the table, and the apartment keys next to it, opened her door and nearly ran into something solid and wobbly at the same time. Someone had left the punching ball from the gym right on her doorstep. 

This hotel was quickly turning into a madhouse, even before the arrival of the film crew and mrscampion. Charlotte manoeuvred herself and her suitcase around the punching ball and over to the elevator.

The hotel lobby was empty at this hour of the morning. Breakfast would only start in half an hour, and apart from Esther opening Reception, no one was around.

“Hello, Charlotte,” Esther said. “You’re up early. What’s going on with you?”

“I had a message from my family,” Charlotte lied, blushing and concentrating on her suitcase. “I have to go home for a few days. Can you call me a taxi to the station?”

“A taxi? At a quarter to seven on a weekend morning in Sanditon? You amuse me, Charlotte.”

“Please,” she said. “I need to go to the station.” And she needed to be away before a single member of the Parker family showed up.

“You can fly,” Esther suggested, touching Babington’s gull-shaped brooch on her lapel. “Or take a golf cart.” But after another look at Charlotte, she widened her eyes: “What has happened to you?”

“Nothing. I just need to see my family.”

“Take these.” Esther handed her the keys of the hotel van. “And if you ask me, park in a no-parking zone and drop the keys in the sewer.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Charlotte. I wish you only the best.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Esther.”

“Goodbye, Charlotte.”

Outside, on the first parking space next to the entrance, the Aston Martin was gleaming in the morning sun, the polished engine cowling shining like a spotless mirror glaze. Charlotte saw her reflection in it: a battered suitcase and a girl wearing jeans and a windbreaker, her hair more tangled than ever, her trainers still sandy from the beach walk with James. What madness had made her believe there was a future for her and the man driving that car?

She raced the hotel van down the road to the station. Contrary to Esther’s advice, she did not park in the no-parking zone, but she did dump the car key into the first rubbish bin she found on the station square. The train – the first one of the three trains plus the bus it took to go from Sanditon to Willingden – was not leaving until 7.16. She had enough time to buy her ticket from the vending machine and a sandwich from the shop before walking through the turnstile. The station guard was kind enough to help her with her luggage. It was the same man who had been on duty on the afternoon of Gigi’s flight to London.

Gigi.

_You cannot trust a single word he says._

Gigi had it all wrong. He was a good man. Which was why it hurt even more. How could he remain a good man if chained to mrscampion?

 _I promise you that you will have your special moment._

But good men did not break their promises.

“Oi!” she heard the station guard shout. “Young man! No ticket, no boarding!”

“This is an emergency,” a deep male voice behind her said.

“This will be an emergency if you don’t stay on your side of the turnstile!”

“Charlotte!”

Even without turning around, she knew that Sidney was standing right behind her on the other side of the ticket barrier. There was an undeniable odour of alcohol, sweat and cold smoke around him. And there was an unmistakable voice of hope in her head, telling her that an overnight miracle had arrived. She slowly turned around. 

Sidney was looking thoroughly battered and as if he had held his head under running water to regain his senses. Consequently, his hair was dripping, leaving the collar of his shirt wet. 

“Charlotte!” he said once more, staring at her from bloodshot eyes, but now apparently lost for words. 

“What is it?” she said, trying to keep that treacherous little voice of hope at bay.

“Charlotte,” he started for the third time. 

“Train’s due in two minutes,” the station guard announced. “If there’s anything substantial you wish to say, you better start now.”

“You don’t have to leave now, you know,” Sidney finally uttered.

“There’s a family matter I have to attend to,” Charlotte lied. “I believe I have enough hours of overtime to warrant for my absence, and I also believe you know the importance of family matters.”

He looked down at his feet, then tried to grab her hand across the barrier. “I know you’re hurt and angry. And if you wish to punch me, punch me.”

“I don’t want to punch you,” Charlotte said. The only person she wanted to punch was miles away in London, probably taking good-morning-selfies for her Instagram account right now. Or cuddling one of her ugly handbags, for the only living beings that Charlotte could think of might want to cuddle with mrscampion were crocodiles, and crocodiles were not known to dwell in Britain.

“There is no way around the show,” Sidney said. “It’s our only chance. The contracts are signed, Eliza’s money is on the way, and filming will start in September.”

“Yes,” she said. “You told me as much.”

“But Charlotte…” Sidney ran his hands through his dripping hair. “I believe… if we really want to, we can still make this… make _us_ work. We can still be together – maybe not in public, but… for us. Just the two of us.”

“I won’t give you away,” the station guard said. “I think you’re rather cute, the two of you. And there’ll be pretty babies. But the train’s due in one minute.” More urgently, Sidney continued. 

“You know it’s all a pretence.”

“A pretence! She’ll cling to you like wet seaweed. She’ll _touch_ you, Sidney!” He fervently shook his head.

“I won’t allow it. I won’t let her poison me. – Whatever happens, it’s not real.”

“And yet it is real,” Charlotte quietly said. “It is so real that you plan to go on nationwide television with it.”

He sighed deeply. “You know that I… that I believed myself to be destined to remain alone. Before I met you.”

And again she was stung by the sheer sadness of such an idea. “But what do you expect me to be now? Your clandestine mistress?”

“No, you’re…” He stopped, apparently wondering what exactly he wanted her to be. Charlotte shook her head.

“That’s not what I think love is. Love is not about hiding and pretences. Love is about honesty and trust and sincerity. About being open with each other. Otherwise, it turns sour and ugly.”

On the track leading along back gardens and business buildings, the 7.16 to London Victoria appeared.

“Listen, Charlotte,” Sidney said, sounding desperate now. “I know you have… high standards when it comes to love. That’s simply who you are. But that’s an ideal. Life is different. It’s very much about trying to make the best out of terrible situations. - Come back to the hotel, just for now. Stay by my side. We’ll find a way to make it work for us.” 

“Until _she_ finds out and hell will break out,” Charlotte said. “Then your family’s going to lose everything, and this time, you will not be able to save them.” She shook her head. “You can’t have both worlds, Sidney Parker. You can’t move into the light with her money and her connections, and at the same time, stashed away into the dark, keep me and my… my…”. She wanted to say “love”, but it suddenly seemed such a misplaced word. So she just shook her head again and continued: “You’ve made your choice. It’s the hotel and your family, and in a weird way, that’s the right choice, because you will never find happiness with me if you leave them behind. But then for my sake, please also accept _my_ choice.”

“Charlotte,” Sidney tried once more. For a moment he looked as if he was going to say something incredibly cheesy, like telling her not to forget him, or asking her not to think badly of him, but then he started climbing the ticket barrier instead.

“Stay away from me!” Charlotte cried, raising her hands. Did he not see how he tormented her? “Stay away. Go!”

“Ahem,” the station guard said, moving in before Charlotte. “One more step, sir, and this is no longer a case of Romeo and Juliet, but of trespassing and harassment.” Sidney kicked at the metal barrier. “Oi!” the station guard cried. “Property damage as well.”

Maybe it was just water dripping from Sidney’s wet curls: who knew? Maybe it was tears running down his face. Charlotte knew her tears would be flowing within seconds, and she turned away from him as with a noisy screech, the 7.16 to London Victoria came to a halt at the platform.

“I’ll help you with your luggage, young lady.” The station guard heaved her suitcase into the car and offered her his hand to help her in. “Hope you get that sorted, luv,” he added as she was wiping her nose. “Let your anger cool down and reconsider, eh? If you ask me, he’s a good man who’s just making a terrible mistake.”

If only it were about terrible mistakes and not impossible choices!

In the near-empty car, Charlotte found a seat by the window on the side facing away from the platform. The train moved out of the station, passed some of the town’s Regency buildings, and with ever faster speed, pulled into the green summer countryside, further and further away from Sanditon. 

Charlotte had no eyes for the fields, the hawthorn or the cloudless sky. And she had no other plans than to get to Willingden at some stage during the afternoon, and to wipe out everything that connected her to the town that had made her grow, made her prove herself, made her happier than any other place - and made her encounter love in a way she had never expected.

As the next station was being announced, she took out her phone. The giant sea serpent was asking for a sacrifice, and she was going to offer that sacrifice. She was going to cut her ties with the Parker family, with Gigi, Esther, James, Crowe and everyone else she had met in the past two months.

Slowly, stoically and systematically, she deleted every photo and every conversation from Sanditon. When she was done with that, she blocked all her new contacts. For a second, her finger hovered over _Mr_ _Sidney Parker_. She remembered seeing his picture for the first time in the family gallery, thinking: _I would love to meet this man._

How naïve she had been!

Now that she knew him, she wondered how to forget him. For in stark contrast to her phone, her heart and her memory did not react to _block_ , _delete_ and _reset_.

 _Wi$**,’’’’’_ , Charlotte read one final time. Then she blocked Sidney Parker as well.


	32. Buddy Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “So, Toni, what did you do on Tuesday evening?”  
> “Oh, you know, nothing special. Had a coffee, and a chocolate cookie (maybe even two or three), and then I went about breaking Charlotte’s heart, and Sidney’s heart and probably also the hearts of some very lovely readers out there in the wide, wide world, and then I wondered whether I should turn into a crab and go into hiding under a rock, or whether I should just go to bed. It was quite a cold night, so I opted for my warm bed. When I woke up on Wednesday morning, my head full of the chapter I had posted the previous night, my email inbox was running over with comments, and the Twitter notifications went mad… but otherwise, it was just a very ordinary Tuesday evening.”  
> “Toni, are you alright? You seem somewhat… befuddled.”  
> “Do I? No, I’m just fine. Have you seen a wooden seagull, though? I need it to fix a happy ending.”
> 
> ***
> 
> Welcome back, my dear readers. I hope all tears are dried, and the heartbeat is back to normal. And while I was well aware that the previous chapter might spark some emotions, I had never expected such an outcome in the comments section. THANK YOU!
> 
> We’re on the safe side now. I can promise that what happened in the last chapter will never happen again. At least not in this story.
> 
> When the original episode 8 ended, I desperately started searching for the Christmas Special which they had apparently forgotten to broadcast. One year later, I still haven’t found that Christmas Special, so I decided to do my own. 
> 
> So here’s my version of Christmas at Sanditon. A happy and peaceful time of the year. What could possibly go wrong?

_Six months later: Boxing Day (December 26th)  
_

“Ha,” Tom said. “Christmas morning. What a splendid occasion! - Can there be anything more delightful than a happy family gathering on our sacred saviour’s special day?”

Sidney rolled his eyes. He could think of many more delightful pastimes than having to listen to his brother’s festive catalogue speech on Christmas morning, especially since in reality, it was not Christmas morning, but Boxing Day noon.

“Perfect,” Sam from the production team said. “You’re such a natural on-screen, Tom – we’ll have to make sure you’re not stealing someone’s show.” He gave a wink. “Now it’s just the reshoot of the children opening their presents, and we’ll be done until the ball tonight.”

“Is this really necessary?” Mary asked as Jenny, Alicia, and Henry duly shuffled over to gather under the purple Christmas tree. Little Jamie, who had somehow escaped everyone’s attention, was crawling behind them, swiping the Conservatory’s floor as he did so.

“It _is_ necessary!” Tom informed his wife. “Christmas at Sanditon!” He painted a frame in the air in case she could not picture it. “A special memory of a special day!”

“But it’s the fifth time since yesterday morning that they have to unwrap their presents,” Mary told Sam. “Surely, you must have enough material by now.” He did not get a chance to answer.

“It’s Christmas,” Eliza announced, stowing her phone away and positioning herself between the chimney sill and the Christmas tree. Wearing a white and pinkish dress, she melted perfectly into this year’s purple decorations. “We want it to be perfect, don’t we, Mary? – Children!” She clapped her hands. “This time, I want no mess. No fights with the gift wrap, no tearing the stockings off the rail, no tree collapsing.”

“That wasn’t us,” Jenny said. “That was Uncle Sidney’s friend.” 

Sidney sighed. Earlier today, during the fourth take of the children’s happy opening of Christmas presents, and probably in a state of morning inebriation, Crowe had collided with the tree, causing it to topple over. Which was very annoying because the tree, as all the purple decoration, had been sponsored by one of Eliza’s advertising partners. Part of the contract was that the tree and the company colours featured prominently in the Christmas scenes. 

However, with most of the purple glass baubles shattered into pieces, the tree looked barely presentable now. Mary had suggested adding the traditional Sanditon Christmas decoration that had been assembled by generations of Parker women throughout the last two hundred years. This innocent idea had caused Eliza to start a long and detailed lecture on the principles of decorative colour schemes and how a wooden pendant lovingly carved by a Parker child in a previous century would ruin it all.

On the plus side, however, this was just the kind of drama the production people loved, so they had shot plenty of material of Eliza explaining Christmas decoration and Mary and Kamila clearing away the mess.

Crowe had never been seen since, leaving them with a battered tree, re-used gift wrap and three main protagonists growing visibly weary at the prospect of unpacking their presents for the fifth time. 

Life in reality TV was anything but easy, especially with Eliza Campion in charge of it. “Now, children… you go there… and you… no, don’t turn away – No, no! Mary, Johnny keeps ruining the scene!” It would help, of course, if only she bothered to remember the children’s names, Sidney thought as Mary rushed in to stop Jamie from happily munching on a purple glitter bow. Somehow, relations between Eliza and the youngest Parker generation had remained strained ever since the buttercream incident on the open-day.

No. Open-day was one of the forbidden words. One of those words banned from his vocabulary, just like golf cart, cove, balcony, assumption, babysitter, nerd. And dimple. 

“Your turn, Sid,” Sam reminded him.

Sidney sighed, put on a brave smile and walked into the scene. As directed, he kneeled down in front of Henry and asked him for the fifth time what he had discovered in his Auntie Eliza’s present. By now, Henry knew the drill. He held a cardboard box into the camera. 

“Wow,” Sidney said. “That’s a great… great… err, Roboflex Monster Toy Figure.” Henry was staring at him, unimpressed and as if he wanted to say: Are you serious, Uncle Sinney?

“And look at that,” Sidney continued. “It can move its head, arms and legs and collapse into a… a… err, lorry.” It had become undeniably apparent over the weeks of filming that he was not a “natural” like Tom and that _he_ was not going to steal anyone’s show. 

On the contrary: as soon as the cameras started rolling, Sidney usually forgot what he was supposed to say or where he was expected to move. He did not even look like his own true self: he came across as the son of Norman Bates and the wicked witch from Hänsel und Gretel, a crooked figure squinting over his shoulder with a wary expression on his face. He hated watching the material of the daily shoots. It was as if the cameras around him were able to capture a part of him that he would have rather kept hidden from the world.

Sidney suppressed another sigh. Behind him, Jenny and Alicia did their best to become enthusiastic about the Roboflex Warrior Queen Toy Figures they had unwrapped for the fifth time, and Eliza reminisced about her happy childhood Christmases. “…and my sister and I used to hold each other by our hands and sing carols under the tree,” she chirped. “What do you think, children? Which carol do we want to sing?”

According to the script, Jenny would now suggest “Rudolf the Rednosed Reindeer”, Alicia would hold the Roboflex Singin’ Reindeer Rudolf Figure into the camera and press its tummy to make it start blaring the song, and Eliza would clap enthusiastically and explain that Rudolf was her all-time favourite Christmas carol. However, before Jenny could so much as open her mouth, Henry had covered his ears with his hands and cried: “No! No! No! I don’t want Rudolf!” 

This was quickly developing into a crisis, and crises were what reality TV was made for. As the cameras zoomed in, Eliza sailed towards Henry, kneeled down in front of him and switched on her sweetest auntie smile: “But it’s such a lovely Christmas song. Your sisters would love to sing along, wouldn’t you, girls?”

Henry had never been less interested in what his sisters might love. He kicked the box of his Roboflex Monster Toy Figure at Eliza, cried “No!” and with a monumental sob fled into his Uncle Sidney’s arms.

“That’s enough, Eliza!” Sidney heard Mary say, and he thought exactly the same. It was enough. 

He felt Henry’s hot tears wet his shoulder as his nephew cried about an injustice that had confronted him with the same ugly plastic figure and the same silly song five times in a row, his small body vibrating in the true and overwhelming despair only a child can feel when lost in the adults’ strange world. 

It was enough. More than enough. 

Sidney was vaguely aware of Eliza staring at them aghast, and of Mary, standing by, ready to move in with some motherly affection should he let go of his nephew. 

But he did not want to let Henry go. His despair, and his hot tears as well, were his own. He gathered him a little closer and lifted him up. 

“How about some buddy talk, Henry?” he whispered. His nephew sniffled “Yes”, smearing his snotty nose on Sidney’s shirt. Sidney carried him away from the cameras, the cables and the spotlights – and from Eliza. “Sidney!” she screeched. “We are filming!” 

He did not listen. He carried his nephew from the mayhem of the set in the Conservatory across the lobby to the peace of the gym and settled down with him on the bench across from his other best friend, the punching ball. After nestling down on Sidney’s lap, Henry’s sobs slowly subsided into hiccups. 

“I’m sorry it’s such a horrible Christmas, Henry,” Sidney finally said, wishing he had a tissue handy. “I didn’t realise…” His voice trailed away as he stared into the void. What he had not realised when he had agreed to this ridiculous TV deal was how much it would change their lives. 

On the plus side, they had gained financial stability and a certain publicity even before the broadcast, which was welcome, especially now that Regency Row was about to be re-opened. The hotel accounts were audited by professional tax advisers, there was no more fiddling around with fake invoices, and the bloody gardener had never been seen again.

Sidney had even quietly managed to interest some potential new investors. However, they all had postponed their final decisions until the start of the show in late January when the promotional impact would become apparent. But at least there was some hope of independency from Eliza’s investment. And once he had achieved that, he would… well. Forbidden area, again.

On the minus-side was the production team that made sure the slightest misunderstanding was blown up to a major, TV-compatible crisis. And the inconvenience that the hotel lobby had been turned into a selling station for ugly handbags. 

On the minus-minus-side was the undeniable fact that Eliza would not win a popularity contest among the hotel workers, even though she had two staunch followers in the Beaufort sisters. 

The Conservatory’s service staff was patently unable to remember that the cup of tea delivered to Eliza’s room every morning had to be green organic Formosa Pi Lo Chun, and no China Lung Ching or, heaven forbid, Japan Sencha. One Sunday morning, the help from the temp agency who had taken Eliza’s order on the phone had told her that they were quite swamped at the moment and that they had no capacities to deliver one single cup of tea to the Denham Suite right now. However, madam was very welcome to brew her own mug of English Breakfast, using the kettle and the tea tray in her room. The help had never been seen again at the hotel. 

Kamila and the housekeeping team would forever claim complete innocence when interviewed about how a pool flotation device in the form of a life-size crocodile might have ended up in Eliza’s bed in the Denham Suite’s master bedroom. 

And then there was Manoel, of course, who on the day of the End of Season ball in September, had presented Eliza with a black service uniform and asked her with a deadpan expression to report for duty at 5 pm sharp. “We’ll be a bit short of staff tonight,” he explained. “I gather with your thorough knowledge of the hotel industry, you’ll understand your obligation to support the team.”

Manoel had not been dismissed. That was largely down to the production team who recognised good material of potential conflict when they saw it. 

So this was what life at the Sanditon Grand Hotel had become during the past six months: no longer on the brink of financial disaster, but still in an unending loop of crises, now and for a change to the sound of cameras zooming in.

The real issue that had been haunting Sidney for months now was, of course, the one no one ever mentioned. Or dared to mention, he was not sure about that. Sometimes he caught Mary glancing at him in a sad and thoughtful way, but she never said a word. And why should she? After all, it was her family home that he had saved.

One inhabitant of Sanditon, however, was never shy to voice his opinion: the old herring gull. With the reliability of a clockwork, the bird left a personal mark on the shiny engine cowling of the Aston Martin. Every single day.

“Uncle Sinney?” Back in the gym, Henry had stopped hiccupping and tugged his uncle by the sleeve. “Are you cryin’ as well?”

“Oh, no. That’s just… well… maybe one or two tears.”

Henry touched his wet cheek with a sticky index finger. “Are you cryin’ because of Charlotte?”

“What?!” Sidney sat up, bolt right. “Why … why would you say that?” 

“Jenny says you liked her.”

“I think everyone liked Charlotte, Henry.” Nearly everyone. And just to say her name made the lump in his throat grow.

“Kamila said to Esther she saw you cryin’ because of Charlotte.”

Of course, Kamila. Clara’s successor in housekeeping had found him on that horrible Saturday back in July when he had been sitting on the attic apartment’s sofa bed, leafing through one of the books Charlotte had left behind. 

Two of the pages were dog-eared. _A man cannot step into the same river twice…_ , he read on the first one. So that was how she had known the quote. If only he could turn back time. If only they could share that short moment of magic in the golf-cart again. If only Eliza had not shown up. If only he had never brought Eliza to Sanditon in a stupid, naïve and utterly idiotic attempt to deny his feelings for Charlotte. 

The second dog-ear was even worse. It was for a poem.

_I long to explore a distant country_

_hike its mountains_ ,

 _discover its coasts_

_climb its rough cliffs_

_and find a hold on its high ledges_

_I want to feel the foreign wind_

_And the warm rain on my face_

_I want to sink my hands into its earth_

_I want to touch its roots_

_taste its salt, and smell_

_the scent of its wide valleys_

_And I want to fight with that country_

_I want to compete with its will_

_probe its limits, and mine as well_

_until sleep finds me and I come to rest_

_on its autumnal_ _leaves_

Sidney hung his head in shame and closed his eyes.

_I promise you that you will have your special moment._

What a thief he was, a shabby, despicable thief. 

All those nights he had been lying awake, wall to wall with her. All those nights he had been dreaming about making love to her, making love in the truest sense of the words. Showing her how beautiful she was, how he cherished her. How she made him happier than any other woman. How he would come to rest in her embrace.

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat. Sidney looked up, his vision blurred. It was Kamila, wielding a bucket and a duster. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Mrs Parker has asked me to check out Charlotte’s room.”

“Right,” he said, jumping up from the sofa-bed, wiping his eyes. “I’m just… err, collecting the books that need to be returned to the library.”

“I can take care of that,” Kamila offered.

“Thank you, but … I think I’ll do that. Don’t want to trouble you with the fee, in case they are overdue.” 

Kamila was a loyal, kind and sensible girl. She had never referred to that moment again, and he had never overheard her joining the staff’s many discussions about why Charlotte Heywood had left the hotel after a “family emergency” and never returned. 

Half a year later, cradling Henry on his lap, Sidney felt the shame as fresh as on that first day. And the guilt. His only excuse for asking Charlotte to become his secret little London affair was his utter state of desperation at the idea of losing her. So much for special moments and distant countries.

He found his nephew looking up at him expectantly and still waiting for an answer. _Are you cryin’ because of Charlotte?_

“Yes, Henry,” Sidney finally said, weary of denying the truth. “I am crying because I wish Charlotte was here with me.”

Henry needed some time to process this piece of information. “Did you kiss her?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Sidney’s mouth twitched at the happy memory of those too few and precious moments.

“Jenny kissed Davy Beard behind the bike shed in school,” Henry said, grabbing his uncle’s hand. “She didn’t like it.”

“I think if you find the right person to kiss, it gets much better.”

“Do you want to kiss Charlotte again?”

“Yes. Very much. But I doubt we’ll ever see her again.”

“Why?”

“She was very sad when she left.”

“Why?” 

This was worse than the Spanish Inquisition. A five-year-old inquisition, asking all the questions the adults never dared to.

“She was sad because … I had made her a promise, and I broke that promise.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Never do that, Henry. When you find someone you want to kiss until you both are old and grizzled, you have to keep the promises you make them.”

“Okay.” Again, Henry needed some moments to think this through. “Uncle Sinney?” he then asked. “Mummy says it’s not bad to make a mistake. You can learn from it and apologise and then don’t make it again.”

“Your mummy is a very clever lady.” If only she applied her wisdom to her own husband.

“You can apologise to Charlotte.”

“I would, but I don’t know where she is.” In fact, she had vanished from the surface of the earth. And the sorrow about where she was and how she was - wherever she was - tormented him every single day. The last he had seen of her was the station guard handing her into the 7.16 to London Victoria on that horrible Saturday morning.

After that, no one in Sanditon had heard from her again. She must have blocked all her contacts from the hotel, and probably also had a new phone number, for there was no reply to any email, call or message from anyone. She was not much into social media either – she had relied heavily on Crowe’s counsel for the hotel’s Instagram account, and if she was on Twitter, Facebook or anywhere else, it was certainly not under her real name.

A few days after Charlotte’s departure, Mary had called the Heywood family home in Willingden – not too difficult to find out that phone number - about her reference and some paperwork, but she had only reached Mrs Heywood. Charlotte’s mother, who seemed to be a soft-spoken but determined woman, had explained that her daughter was not about right now, but that any mail for her might be forwarded to Willingden, thank you very much, Mrs Parker, and bye now.

The obvious course of action was to speed to Willingden, knock on the Heywood family’s door, get past Charlotte’s elder brothers, ignore her hints of bulls and castration, deliver that reference in person and beg for her forgiveness. 

However, he had nothing new to offer her. The situation was unchanged, and the contracts were signed: filming would start in September, and the much-needed money would roll sooner. Speaking of money: Charlotte had returned Eliza’s compensation. Twice. But that was no surprise. If love was nothing to be paid for, so was heartbreak.

As the summer turned into autumn and autumn into winter, Sidney had to admit that his own good piece of advice was worth nothing: _You must put her from your mind. Or else you’ll go mad._ There was no way to put her from his mind, not in Sanditon. Tom’s office, the Conservatory, the parking lot, the hydrangea, the golf course, the cliff trail, the beach, the cove. The cove: she was everywhere. And not knowing where she really was had indeed the potential to make him go mad.

 _You’ve made your choice_ … _But then for my sake, please also accept_ my _choice_. That was what she had asked of him, and in a strange way, he knew that if he really loved her, he would indeed accept her choice and give her the space that she needed. 

Sometimes he suspected James Stringer knew something. However, after the fire, the architect did little to hide his contempt for anyone called Parker. Perhaps he was not that amiable and boring after all, and it was definitely no option to walk up to him and ask him: “Sorry, mate, do you happen to know the whereabouts of that girl whose heart I broke when you were so obviously in love with her?” 

Just before Christmas, Stringer had moved to Vancouver, and in Sidney’s worst nightmares, Charlotte had joined him there. He could see them, hand in hand, ambling along the beaches of Stanley Park, laughing about the stuffiness of Sanditon and the idiot that was Sidney Parker.

Those were the bad days, the ones when sleep would only come with the help of a Chivas Regal. Or two. Or three. On the good days, however, Sidney understood that he had to stay sober if he wanted to find a way out of his predicament, if he wanted to survive life in reality TV by the side of Eliza Campion - and if he ever wanted to face Charlotte Heywood again. And as he desperately wanted to see Charlotte again, the good days prevailed.

“Uncle Sinney?” Henry was still holding his hand, a warm, wet and sticky comfort. His expression was full of sincerity and compassion. “Do you want a hug?”

“Yes,” Sidney said. “I think I would like that very much, Henry.”

So Henry stood on the bench and gave his uncle a long and tight hug. It was the best hug Sidney had had since kissing Charlotte good-bye before leaving for London all those months ago, and it was only interrupted by Diana rushing into the gym, large-eyed and flushed.

“There you are, Sidney! Everyone’s looking for you. You’ve got a visitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is still not mine, I only did the translation. 
> 
> Source: https://wizelife.de/schwarzes-brett/notiz/5b37fb1d297b50529e2f7ec3/persoenliches/manchmal-muss-man-einfach-schnulzen-lieben


	33. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record: I would like to point out that it was definitely not Kamila and the housekeeping team that placed the crocodile in mrscampion’s bed. They are far too busy for such pranks. It is actually MiamiGal from the comment section who is responsible for any crocodiles in the story (though her original suggestion was to feed mrscampion directly to them).
> 
> Who is the visitor? That is the question. Kudos to the clever ladies on Twitter who actually found the correct answer (sorry I didn't tell you when you did). I enjoyed the discussions, here and elsewhere.

“There you are, Sidney! Everyone’s looking for you. You’ve got a visitor.” Diana held her hand out to Henry. “Come on, young man. Uncle Arthur has made Sticky Toffee Chocolate Lollypops for you and your sisters.” Henry placed a wet kiss on Sidney’s cheek and hopped off the bench.

“Who is the visitor?” Sidney asked. Diana smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“See for yourself. But have a look in the mirror first.”

Charlotte, he thought as he stood in front of the gym’s washbasin, shoving cold water into his face and trying to remove Henry’s snot from his shirt. Please, Lord, let it be Charlotte, come to save them all from Roboflex Monster Toy Figures, purple Christmas trees and the tragedy that tonight’s Annual Sanditon Christmas Ball was bound to become.

Then he remembered that he was actually not a very religious person and that he had not done much to endear himself to the Lord in recent months. Also, as much as he would have loved to simply see her, a confrontation of Charlotte and Eliza at this stage was unlikely to change anything for the better.

It was not Charlotte, anyway. It was Gigi’s father: George Lambe, standing in the middle of the lobby, suntanned and relaxed, sporting a white beard, squinting from behind thick lenses and greeting Sidney with open arms. “My dear boy! Don’t look at me as if I was Father Christmas – it’s still me.”

“I… didn’t expect to see you,” Sidney admitted. “I thought you’d… still be sailing the seas.” Since putting Gigi on a flight to Antigua a few days after Charlotte’s departure, he had not heard much from his former mentor. There were some legal matters to discuss, but that was it. Gigi had stopped any communication with him the moment she realised that Charlotte was gone. After the summer holidays, she had not returned to school in England but continued to sail the world with her father and Number Three. Family healing, her father had called it in one of their few phone conversations. Sidney had not been too sorry to see himself relieved of foster-father-duties.

“We had to come home at some stage,” George Lambe said. “Gigi will have to attend Otis’s trial in January. She kept pestering Mrs Lambe and me about the Sanditon balls, so I said to myself: why not pay Sidney a surprise visit and treat my two ladies to a Christmas holiday at the Sanditon Grand.”

“Indeed, why not,” Sidney mumbled. “Where are Gigi and, err, Mrs Lambe?”

George gave a hearty laugh. “I know Gigi calls them by numbers. But incidentally, she’s getting on quite well with Number Three. Had no other choice after five months in a boat. – They are up in their rooms, settling in.” Sidney could not help but be amazed. Gigi, going on well with a new stepmother? Was she finally growing up? Or was George growing up, at least when it came to the choice of his wives? “I wanted to have a little chat with you first, my boy,” his friend said. “Maybe in a less public place than the lobby?” For the first time in months, Sidney felt real hope. This was so unexpected – a genuine Christmas surprise. However, if he wanted to interest his mentor in an investment, he would have to play it delicately and with open cards.

“Let’s go to the bar.” The bar was officially closed at this hour, but with the bustle of the Christmas lunch in the Conservatory next door, it was the quietest place to find in the hotel. George Lambe settled down in an ancient leather armchair, looking more like Father Christmas than ever before. “Now tell me, Sidney,” he said. “What exactly is going on here?”

“What do you mean?” Sidney asked, taking a seat facing him.

“I may be half-blind, but some things I see very clearly. Why is your Christmas decoration sponsored by a company for sanitary products, why did the girl at reception try to sell a handbag to Mrs Lambe on check-in, and why, why for God’s sake, is the woman who wrecked your life eight years ago now in charge of everything?”

“The receptionists get a commission for every handbag they sell,” Sidney explained. “The sponsor is Eliza’s cooperation partner, so they just extended the partnership.” That was the easy part. The rest was a long story, even though he restricted his tale to the details concerning Tom, his financial status, Regency Row and the search for a new investor after the fire.

He made sure never to mention Charlotte. However much she was part of the story, the core of the problem was their financial troubles and not the fact that he had fallen in love with Charlotte Heywood. George Lambe was a businessman, not a matchmaker: If he offered to get involved in the hotel, it would be for the perspective of the potential monetary profit, not for resolving a romance. Sidney had seen him take these decisions often enough: a good investment should be based on mutual understanding and expected financial profit. In the finance world, Charlotte was nothing but collateral damage, even though any insider realised that during her short stay, she had indeed become the heart of the Sanditon Grand Hotel.

However, after five months on a boat with Gigi, George Lambe certainly knew everything there was to know about Charlotte, including Sidney’s anything but shining role in the story.

“So essentially,” George said a few seconds after Sidney had finished detailing the hotel’s current financial status, “you have sold yourself to that woman and her TV project.”

“That’s certainly one way to look at it.” He could not meet his mentor’s eye.

“But why?”

“As I told you. My family would have lost the hotel and their home.”

“I’ve never known you to have such an altruistic nature, Sidney. Which part am I missing?” Sidney sighed. The man might be half-blind without his thick spectacles, yet his vision was surprisingly clear.

“Maybe I’ve changed, George. It’s a family business. The Parkers have been at the heart of Sanditon for two-hundred years. You never want to be the generation that ruins such a tradition.”

George thought about this for a moment. “Then why did you not come to me?” he finally asked.

“You were sailing the Pacific Ocean with your new wife. Even if I had managed to get hold of you, what was I supposed to say? My brother is the worst hotel manager in the world, so can you please chip in with seven million pounds? – Not very convincing. Not after everything you’ve taught for me.”

“You have a point, Sidney. I might have taken it for a joke and finished the conversation.” He laughed, making Sidney’s heart sink. Then he turned serious again. “However, you went out all alone and took the whole world on your shoulders, and now you’re wondering why you’re feeling crushed?”

“It was not only about an investment. There’s also the mess I made of looking after Gigi,” Sidney conceded, looking down at his hands.

“Yes,” George said. “I’ll admit that was not your finest hour, my boy. But I believe the one person truly to blame for Gigi’s misery is sitting in front of you.” He lifted his hand when Sidney started to contradict him. “I’m her father. I exposed her to one stepmother after another, and I was not too picky when it came to those stepmothers, as long as they did not remind me of her mother, because that would have been too hurtful.” Sidney nodded. He had never met the very first Mrs Lambe. Still, he knew that theirs had been a whirlwind romance of two completely opposite mindsets: one of Britain’s top players in the financial sector, and an African-American human rights activist. A romance that ended in tragedy when Mrs Lambe died of breast cancer when Gigi was only three years old.

“I never offered Gigi a proper home,” her father now said. “I dumped her in a boarding school as soon as she was old enough, just to make sure I was not bothered with her education. I decided to go on a sailing trip around the world. I abdicated responsibility and left my only child in the care of a young man hardly qualified to act as a surrogate father for a teenage girl.” Sidney did not know what to say. He had never heard his mentor speaks so openly about his failures as a father. George took off his glasses and wiped them thoroughly before going on: “These past five months with Gigi on the yacht have been anything but plain sailing. I was tempted to throw her into the ocean more than once, especially when there were sharks around. She threatened to do the same with me. And with Mrs Lambe. She loves a bit of a drama.” He smiled ruefully. “And then again, she’s such a fighter, so stubborn, and sometimes, she so much reminds me of her mother that I cannot bear to have her around me because it makes the loss feel so fresh. - No matter what actually happened with Otis, it is not your fault, Sidney. I was a better mentor to you than I was a father to Gigi, and in the end, you were nothing but the guardian of my own failures.”

Sidney swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Liberating as it was to receive this absolution, the worst part still lay ahead of him. And he had to go through with it if he ever wanted to meet his mentor’s eyes again. He could not ask for his money and yet, keep the worst hidden from him. He thought of Charlotte, looking at him in this way that made him want to tell her everything - the good, the bad, and the very evil. “There’s something else,” he said.

“Is there?”

“Yes.” There was no turning back now. For a second, he saw Charlotte’s face again, her eyes dark and serious. “Two years ago, when you invited me to Antigua to join your family on the yacht, I began an affair with Marissa.”

There it was, out in the open. Sidney automatically ducked, in case his mentor started hurling the bar menu at him. But George did not do anything. He just kept staring at Sidney, which was even more disconcerting because behind the thick lenses and in the dim light of the bar, it was impossible to make out his eyes.

“Does Gigi know about this?” he asked after half an eternity.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“She… she must have seen us, I’m afraid.” Sidney kept George’s gaze.

“Did she use it against you?”

“She tried to when I forbade her any contact to Otis. – But I thought I’d rather run the risk of losing your friendship than have Gigi under the spell of that woman.”

“So you’re at least a man of some principle, Sidney Parker.”

“I’m not sure I can say that right now,” he admitted. For a good while, George stared beyond him at the whiskey bottles lining the bar.

“I am disappointed in you, Sidney,” he finally said. “Deeply disappointed. Can’t deny it, even though I did have a suspicion. It was too much of a cliché not to be true: the sugar daddy’s bored wife and his handsome protégé.”

“I’m so sorry, George,” Sidney said, holding his head down. And he was. Sorry and ashamed.

“Our marriage was close to over even before you stepped on board. But that's not an excuse.– How did it end?”

“We met again once in a hotel in London, but… it wasn’t the same. Not without the scenery and… and the thrill of being caught in the act.”

“It is a blow, but I’m relieved that you told me. I don’t want to have any secrets standing between us, Sidney.”

“Right,” Sidney said, and strangely enough, ashamed as he was, he felt relieved as well.

“You have given me quite a lot to think about,” At least, George did not punch him or leave the hotel immediately.

“I wish I could be less of a disappointment to you.”

“Ask my ex-wives about who is a disappointment.” He gave Sidney a sad grin. “We are all prone to failures and mistakes. If we are lucky, we can pretend they never happened. If we are unlucky, we’ll have to bear the consequences, learn from them and make amends next time. – Now I’ll…”

“Excuse me, Mr Parker?” Julia Beaufort came into the bar, nervously biting her lip. “Could you come to the Denham Suite? Mrs Campion is asking for you.”

There we go again, Sidney thought, preparing himself for another appearance on Eliza TV. George hoisted himself up from his leather chair.

“I don’t want to keep you from your duties.” Was there a slight note of irony in his tone? Sidney could not say. “You’ve given me quite a bit to think about,” George added. And we have not even come close to speaking about what is truly on my mind, Sidney realised. But this was only the prelude.

“Give my regards to Gigi and Mrs Lambe. I’m looking forward to seeing them at the ball,” he said, wondering what he had achieved – whether he had achieved anything at all.

For once, there were no camera people around in the Denham Suite. Which meant that this was not a TV-compatible crisis, but a real crisis. “Eliza?” Sidney knocked on the door of the master bedroom.

She was not alone. By her side were her stylist, clutching her white ball gown for the evening, and Kamila, showing a complete poker face while wielding a spray bottle of something potentially very poisonous. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Ask your nieces!” Eliza cried, pointing at Jenny and Alicia. They were standing together in the corner of the room, looking very innocent and very sweet, munching happily on the remains of Arthur’s Sticky Toffee Chocolate Lollypops.

“Jenny?” he said. “Alicia?”

“It was an accident,” Jenny said. “I just wanted to take a look at Mrs Campion’s pretty white ball gown.” Alicia nodded eagerly, showing her chocolate tongue as she was licking her lollypop.

“Kamala says she can’t fix it,” Eliza cried.

Kamila shrugged her shoulders, keeping her poker face. “It will have to be sent to the dry cleaners. – But they are closed today,” she added. The stylist moved forward to show Sidney the evidence. It was undeniable; there was an ugly chocolate-coloured smear on the lower back of the white dress.

“Jenny,” he said. “Apologise to Eliza.”

“No, I won’t.” Jenny folded her arms in front of her breast.

“Jenny Parker!”

“It’s all ruined,” Eliza sniffed. “What am I to wear tonight?”

“You can stay at home,” Jenny suggested. Alicia giggled. Kamila’s poker face twitched.

“Jenny, come with me.” Sidney marched his niece out of the room and over to the lounge area of the Denham Suite. He made her sit down on the sofa and took a seat on a chair in front of her.

“You will apologise to Eliza,” he said.

“Why should I?”

“Because you ruined her dress? Because of what you just said?”

“Very well.” Jenny folded her arms in front of her again. “I’ll apologise to her when she apologises to you.” Sidney furrowed his brow.

“Why should Eliza apologise to me?”

“Because she made Charlotte go away.” She looked straight at him, her gaze very serious and clear. He gasped.

“Jenny…”

“I know that you liked her, Uncle Sidney. I’ve seen you watching her when we built the sandcastle on the beach.” Sidney shook his head, remembering that lovely afternoon. How he had been meditating on how pleasing it was to watch a beautiful young woman in beach shorts build a sandcastle. If only… ah, well. Enough of the ifs. Time for action.

“The thing is, Jenny, Charlotte will not come back simply because you start ruining Eliza’s dresses.”

“I know, but…” Now there was a slight shimmer in her eyes, her courage waning away. There was something very endearing about her demeanour. Clearly and in not too many years, she would be another young lady walking out into the world with her head held high, fighting for what she believed was right. Sidney moved a little closer and took her hands, searching her gaze.

“Apologise to her, Jenny. For my sake. That will give me a little peace, and time to think about what we can do to make Charlotte come back to Sanditon.” She had to think this through. He saw the emotions work on her little face as she was balancing her loyalty towards Charlotte against her feelings for Eliza. It made him smile in a way he only understood when he realised that this was a rare thing to see these days at the Sanditon Grand Hotel: real emotions, not perverted in front of a camera.

“Alright,” Jenny finally said. “I’ll apologise to Mrs Party Pooper. But I’ll keep my fingers crossed behind my back.” Sidney pressed her hand with a smile. There were some details he was willing to overlook.


	34. Home and Away

# 

Further to the northwest and one hundred fifty miles away from Sanditon, unaware of the drama a Sticky Toffee Chocolate Lollypop might provoke, Charlotte finished her last tour of the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel and settled down behind her desk. Her final task for the day was to type the duty manager report. 

As it was Boxing Day, half of the West Midlands seemed to be on the move. Consequently, Charlotte had been very busy during her shift. There was no hour without drama, from the breakfast crew running out of eggs to the airport shuttle off-loading guests at one hotel and their luggage at another, plus the daily complaints at check out about hot water, cold water or no water in the shower (usually, it was the guests who did not understand how to work the ultra-modern fittings, but that was an explanation no guest wanted to hear). A flight layover had swamped reception, Charlotte had called the police about a guest who had forgotten to pay his bill but remembered to take the television from his room, and after lunch, when matters finally seemed to quieten down, a false fire alarm had led to the evacuation of the whole building. 

Everyone had warned her that on Boxing Day, the duty manager would have no two seconds to breathe through, that guests and staff would be running wild. Charlotte did not have much of a choice, though: as the latest addition to the management team, it was tacitly expected of her to volunteer for the duty manager shifts during the Christmas days.

She did not really regret it. She enjoyed her job, and so far, work had been a perfect distraction, especially work in a busy and anonymous airport hotel were most guests only stayed one night, left early to catch their flight and never returned. There was no place more different from the Sanditon Grand Hotel than the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel. Even the staff were different. There was a high turnover, no one cared about where she had been before or who she was, and if someone was having a secret affair, they were having it truly in secret and not in the elevator room. The temp agency never called to cancel their people, the gardener simply did his work without dabbling in electricity, and the manager had a high regard for proper accounting and called her Charlotte, but never “my dear”. If he had a brother, or two, they never showed up at his workplace.

Charlotte filed the duty manager report away. Tomorrow she would go to Willingden, only to return to work in the new year. One week under the care and the love of her family was well worth working all the duty-shifts no one else wanted to do. As long as the many members of the Heywood-clan refrained from asking questions about Sanditon.

Back in July, her family had been highly suspicious about her unexpected and teary appearance on that Saturday afternoon. Initially, however, they connected her departure from Sanditon and her evident despondency to the fire. That was until the landline started ringing during dinner. “I’m not here,” Charlotte said, nearly ducking under the table as the panic surged up inside of her. “If it’s someone asking for me, please tell them I’m not here.”

“Charlotte!” her mother gasped as Alison went to answer the phone. After a few moments, her sister duly said: “I’m sorry, she’s not here. – No, I don’t know where she is. – Sorry, what was your name again? Right. I’ll let her know.” Alison returned to the table. “Some James for you, Charlotte. Asks you to call him back, night or day. - Why do you want me to lie for you? Is he the arm?”

“No,” Charlotte said, staring at her plate, realising that this was the worst part of it: there were many good people in Sanditon who right now would be worried about her.

“Then who is he? And who is the arm?”

“He’s a friend.”

“And the arm?”

“What’s this about an arm?” Mrs Heywood asked.

“Charlotte’s lover. But she won’t give me his name.”

“I don’t have a lover,” Charlotte told her plate, unwelcome tears welling up to her eyes, making her whole face melt away. Alison’s expression changed immediately.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I really thought… did he dump you?”

“Do you want me to thrash him?” her brother Joe offered. “Defend your honour?” 

“If he’s dumped you, he’s an idiot anyway,” Dan added. “Good riddance.” Charlotte blew her nose.

“Now really … it’s not worth the fuss you are making about it. But I’d be grateful if you told any callers that I’m not here.”

“You shouldn’t be asking your family to lie for you, Charlotte,” her mother said sternly.

“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “Gives it a bit of a bad smell.”

“He’s not married, is he?” Dan asked.

“No, he’s…” Her voice trailed off. Selling himself to the ugliest handbag in the UK. Asking me to become his little secret London affair. Stealing me my special moment.

“That bad?” her father asked. Mr Heywood was a man of few words and even less display of emotion. It was all in his eyes, searching hers with great concern now and even more affection. Charlotte had never seen her father like this, and it broke her. It broke her so utterly and entirely that when she was done with crying, Mr Heywood lifted her up and carried her to her bed. 

“I told you to be careful,” he said as he stroked her hair just as he had done when she was a little girl, crying after stumbling over her own feet in the cobblestoned yard.

“I know, Daddy. I tried to… so much, but…”

“Now.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You lie down and try to sleep. And tomorrow, you’ll come out with me and help me with the calves.”

Charlotte blew her nose. She knew full well that a day out on the pastures with her father and his Black Hereford calves was not enough to make her forget Sanditon, but it was the first step. And she had to take the first step at some stage, for she had a mountain to climb. 

So the next day, she put on her rubber boots and accompanied her father to the meadows down by the river. She was not much of a help, though. As good as it was to be outside in the summer sun and do some physical work, there was the undeniable fact that all these cute baby Black Herefords were staring at her from large, dark eyes, making her think of someone else’s dark eyes. She was practically surrounded by a herd of Sidney-Parker-eyes, all of them mooing at her. It was not ideal. 

Her father let her walk away and sit by the ancient bridge, staring at the water flowing beneath her. At some stage, he sat down next to her, put his arm around her shoulders and let her cry as they watched the fish jump and the dragon-flies dance.

When Charlotte and Mr Heywood came home for tea, they found the grown-up part of the Heywood-clan assembled around the dining table, looking at them expectantly. Mrs Heywood was tapping on a pile of print outs in front of her. “We have been thinking, Charlotte,” she said as Charlotte sat down between Alison and Joe. Alison immediately took her hand. “We believe that what you might need is a change of scenery.”

“A change of scenery,” Charlotte repeated, thinking of those calves’ eyes again. In a farmer family with nine children, a change of scenery usually meant a village fete visit in the neighbourhood.

“Yes,” Mrs Heywood said, tapping on the papers in front of her again. “So we’ve booked you and Ali on a flight to Carcassonne.”

“What?” Somewhere in her head, Tom Parker started complaining about people booking cheap flights to the Mediterranean instead of a train ticket to Sanditon.

“Yes!” Alison clapped her hands, smiling broadly. “We are going to France! You and I, and a tent, and our sleeping bags. Just think of it! One month in the south of France!”

“I… I… I… - but…” Who was going to pay for that?

Dan leaned forward, touching Charlotte’s arm. “Don’t you worry about the money, Char. Mum’s pawned her wedding ring.”

“I haven’t,” Mrs Heywood said with some dignity. “But I would if it were to help one of my children.”

“We’ll be living off nothing but baguette and water for four weeks,” Alison said with a grin. “But we’ll be having the best time ever!”

Later, Charlotte found out that her parents had raided their emergency funds, and she insisted on paying for her part of the journey herself. After all, she had some savings from Sanditon. Of course, mrscampion’s pay off might have proven helpful, but the sheer thought of the money made her feel sick, so she returned it, even when it was credited to her account for a second time.

And Alison was right: they had the best time. Not ever, but as far as possible under the given circumstances. The south of France was not quite the distant country she had expected to travel to this summer, and unfortunately, Sidney Parker seemed to be looming in the alleys of even the remotest Provençal mountain village. Still, with Alison by her side, pointing at this and that - and did you see that cute kitten lounging in the lavender? - it was difficult to lose herself completely in melancholy and memories. Yet there were still enough moments of gloom, of sadness and grief, and even of anger about the injustice of it all. 

One night towards the end of their holidays, huddled into their sleeping bags, listening to the cicadas’ evening song in the nearby field, Alison quietly asked: “When are you going to tell me about him, Charlotte?”

Charlotte shifted her position, staring at the branches of a walnut tree shadow-dancing on the tent’s ceiling. “Someday, Ali.”

“But why won’t you give me his name? Is he famous?” No, Charlotte thought. Only famous for parking in the no-parking zone.

“He’s not famous.” But if Alison knew his name, she would google him and freak out about how terribly hot he was, and being the optimistic girl that she was, she would end up calling the Sanditon Grand Hotel, ask for Mr Sidney Parker and tell him to come and see her sister, pronto, please.

“I don’t understand why he ended it. – Charlotte?” Alison sat up, grabbing for her phone. “You are glowing with love in that picture!” Charlotte did not look at it. She knew herself how she looked in that picture from the premiere party.

“It’s complicated,” she told the tent’s ceiling.

“How can it be complicated? Two people being in love?”

“Please, Ali.” But Alison was not in a mood to give up. 

“It’s only… you seemed to be so happy at Sanditon. Even before Mr Mysterious turned up. I believed… I believed you had found this one place. The place where you belong.”

“I _was_ very happy at Sanditon,” Charlotte conceded, thinking of her attic apartment, the beautiful view, the herring gull sitting in the gutter every morning to greet her (the French seabirds were rather a disappointment in that regard). All those moments in the office when she had realised that they were moving forward, that she was achieving something: making Mr Mathews pay that forgotten wedding bill, making the Instagram account work, making the open-day a success.

“Until Mr Mysterious came and spoilt it all?” Alison asked. 

“No. He… he only added to the magic.”

“How?”

“Ali…” It was so difficult to explain, and yet, her sister deserved some sort of explanation. “He made me question myself. Doubt myself. Time and again. I hated him for it, I really did, Ali, but… then I understood that I only hated him because that was easier than to admit to myself how much I was in love with him.”

“Wow,” Alison said, remaining silent for a while. “And now? Do you hate him again?” she finally asked.

Charlotte thought for a second, then shook her head. “No. Maybe it would be easier if I could, but I can’t. Hate is such a dark emotion. I’m sad and disappointed and hurt.” And she missed him. She had to search for a tissue, tears rolling down her cheeks now. Oh, how she missed him. Smiling at her with that rare, boyish Sidney-Parker-smile. Sharing his ideas with her. Talking things through. Teasing her a little, but always in a kind and loving way. Showing her how much he enjoyed being with her, how much he appreciated her spirit.

“Charlotte,” Alison softly said.

“It’s alright.” But of course, it was not. Because the one thing that was even worse than the sadness, the disappointment, the pain, the emptiness of being without him and the horror at his desperate suggestion of a secret affair was the sorrow. The sorrow of what would become of him.

How could he remain his own true self with mrscampion’s poison slowly dripping into him? That was what pained and worried her most, that he would lose himself again and turn into a man full of self-loathing. That mrscampion would destroy her Sidney, the Sidney Charlotte had come to love.

But that was nothing she could tell Alison. Alison, however, the sensible girl that she was, understood very well that sometimes, tears said more than words. So she scrambled out of her sleeping bag and held her big sister, held her very long and very tight and until all tears had been cried out – which was a long time after the cicadas had ended their evening song. 

Half a year later, waiting for the end of her shift at her desk in the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel administration office, Charlotte was still feeling that sorrow. Whenever she thought of Sidney, it was with a quiet and tender sadness that made her long to touch him, just to feel that he was still real. Sometimes (and that was a good sign, according to Alison, who had started an interest in psychology) she thought of him with anger about all the impossible decisions he had made without consulting her, taking the world on his shoulders. But overshadowing it all was the sorrow of what had become of him.

She sighed and checked the watch on the desktop. Another ten minutes, then she would return the master keys to reception and call it a day. There was no use in starting anything new now, so she took out her phone and read her messages. Lots of family pictures in the Heywood family group, lots of texts from her parents and her siblings, telling her that they loved her and missed her and kept the best food for her arrival on the next day. Alison, asking her whether she was looking forward to her Christmas surprise. Her father, telling her to be careful on the journey from Birmingham to Willingden.

Charlotte wiped a tear from her eye. The Heywood clan had proven such a bulwark when it came to protecting her. She knew that Mary had called while they were away in France, and James. Again. 

Ignoring James was something Charlotte found increasingly difficult. None of what had happened was his fault, and his evident concern and persistence only went to show what a good person he was. More than once did she consider meeting him, on neutral ground, somewhere in London perhaps. But then, she felt again that it was mean to raise his hopes when Sidney was still so much in her mind, and that such a meeting might end in awkwardness, with James wanting to hold her hand, or trying to kiss her. She hoped that he had taken the opportunity the internship in Vancouver offered him and started a new life, just as she was about to start a new life in Birmingham.

Alison believed that she overdid it, and Joe offered to set her up for blind dates with his football friends – but then Alison was only eighteen, and Joe’s friends had already proven a disappointment during her teenage years.

She closed her messages and checked the newsfeed. As it was Boxing Day, there was no real news, but her phone's all-knowing algorithm had a special advertisement for her. It featured a blond, petite woman holding an ugly handbag in her left hand while clutching a dark-haired man's waist with her right. The man was half-turning his back on the viewer so that he was seen in semi-profile only, with the woman adoringly gazing up to him. Behind them was an idealised version of the view of the Sanditon Grand Hotel towards the cliff, the sea and the sky. Idealised, because in reality, Charlotte had never seen a cascade of hearts tumbling down from the upper row of balconies.

 _Eliza – Madly in Love,_ the caption read _. New reality series starts Sunday, January 28th at 9 pm, only on ITV Life._

Reality? This was the greatest joke of reality Charlotte had ever seen. She took a closer look. mrscampion had been airbrushed and seemed to be following a rigorous diet, judging by her tiny waist. The man she was holding on to as if he were her life… Sidney… barely looked like Sidney at all. He could be any dark-haired man, seen in semi-profile as he was. Even the stubble of his beard somehow looked photoshopped. Who in the world would think it necessary to photoshop Sidney Parker’s face? 

Yet it hurt. 

_Whatever happens, it’s not real_.

_It is so real that you plan to go on nationwide television with it, Sidney._

And there they were, on nationwide television, Sunday, primetime. Madly in love. 

Charlotte realised that it would become impossible for her to ignore this. And that she better told Alison who “the arm” was before the Heywood-siblings for once agreed on which TV channel to watch and they all added one plus one at nine pm on Sunday, January 28th. 

She started shutting down the desktop when the duty manager’s phone started ringing with the reception’s number in the display. Probably a last-minute catastrophe, she thought as she answered the call. 

“Miss Heywood?” the receptionist said. “Can you come to the lobby? There are two men here asking for you.”


	35. Friends Will Be Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a piece of writing advice if you consider that activity for yourself: Insert an unnamed but potentially game-changing surprise visitor in the very last line, leave the chapter on that cliffhanger, lean back and enjoy following the speculations on who that visitor might be (if successful, repeat).
> 
> I agree, that was a bit mean. My only excuse is that it’s a perfect leisure activity in times of social distancing. And I can safely promise that even though there will be some more surprise guests, next time they will arrive way before the end of the chapter.
> 
> Babbers and Crowe have won the popular opinion vote on the visitor question. Truth be told, that’s exactly the outcome I expected. Now let’s find out whether the popular opinion has it right…

“Miss Heywood?” the receptionist said. “Can you come to the lobby? There are two men here asking for you.”

Charlotte sighed. “Do they have a name? A room number? What do they want?” The receptionist was probably a cousin of the Beaufort sisters. Even over the phone, she could see him shrug his shoulders and wonder why she might be interested in such details.

“Don’t know. They just asked for you. They are in the lobby now.”

“Alright. I’ll be there in a moment.” Charlotte put down the phone and breathed through. For months, she had known this feeling. Whenever there was “a someone”, “a man”, “ a Mr I-did-not-catch-the-name, Miss Heywood” asking for her at reception. The quick surge of hope that went high for a moment, only to be deflated a few seconds later when “someone”, “a man” or “Mr I-did-not-catch-the-name” turned out to be the hygiene inspector, a salesman promoting indoor fountains or an angry guest reporting his iPhone missing, blaming it all on the staff, only to find the phone in the depths of his laptop bag two minutes after the theft had been reported to the police. 

As it was Boxing Day, there was little chance that the two men would turn out to be hygiene inspectors or salesmen for indoor fountains. Or Sidney Parker, come to tell her that a Christmas miracle had occurred and a wealthy investor had offered to buy out mrscampion under the condition that he shot her and her handbags to the moon, without a return ticket. And even if there was no wealthy investor: maybe he would tell her that the Yeti had abducted Mrs Influencer during a promotion tour in the Himalaya. Or – this one was a favourite – that in an attempt to endear herself with the Parker children, she had taken them on a day out to the London Zoo and stumbled over her own silly high-heels in the reptile house, ending up face to face with a bunch of hungry crocodiles. 

Charlotte sighed. Presumably, even the crocodiles would display a sense of taste and honour and refrain from nibbling on something as scrawny and screechy as mrscampion. 

_Two_ men: more likely a new case of a missing iPhone. With another sigh, Charlotte locked the office door behind her and walked over to the reception, making a mental note of discussing the choice of background music for the public areas with the manager. Freddie Mercury singing “ _Friends will be friends_ … W _hen you’re in need of love they give you care and attention… When you’re through with life, and all hope is lost …”_ was fine for teambuilding and the next staff karaoke contest, but for a hotel claiming four and a half stars, she thought some relaxing lounge music would be more appropriate.

“Where are they?” she asked the receptionist when she could not make out a potential case of a lost iPhone in the lobby area.

“They have moved over to the bar.”

“Did they say what they want?”

“No. They just looked at the sign…” – he pointed at the panel saying _Manager on Duty: Charlotte Heywood_ – “… and asked for you.” So it had to be something unpleasant. 

Charlotte made her way around the hotel’s Christmas tree, and a flight crew coming in, and entered the Runway bar. This being an airport hotel, the bar was always busy, and it took her some moments to make out the two men that had asked for her. In fact, they found her first. 

“Little Charlotte Heywood!” someone from a table in the back called. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”

Charlotte stopped dead. There was no way to pretend that she had not heard. Actually, most of the guests at the bar had heard the call and were turning their heads at her now. She swallowed hard on whatever was building up inside her throat.

So. The moment to face Sanditon had come. And of course, it was very different from what she had expected it to be like in the wild journeys of her imagination. She took a deep breath and walked over to the corner where the waiter was serving coffee to the absolutely extraordinary pair of Crowe and Fred Robinson.

“Charlotte!” Beaming with pleasure, Fred jumped up, nearly knocked out the waiter and gave her a hug. “Great to see you! Merry Christmas to you!”

Crowe saluted her with his coffee cup. “Merry Christmas, Admiral Heywood. – In fact, it has just become indefinitely merrier.”

“But…,” she gasped as Fred released her. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Anything for you, Miss Heywood?” the waiter asked.

“No, thank you…” Her voice trailed off as she kept staring at the two men at the table: Fred with his shining green eyes and lanky Crowe with his head full of curls, both smiling at her as if she was baby Jesus. “What are you doing here?” she asked once more, feeling completely out of depth.

“I believe the question is: What are _you_ doing here, Charlotte?” Crowe said. “I don’t wish to sound overcritical, but compared to the pleasures of the Sanditon Grand Hotel, this place is rather… mundane.”

“It’s a good workplace.”

“She has a fine point there,” Fred said. “I suppose the pay is on time and the manager does not try to set the house on fire.”

And it was close enough to Willingden to go home for a weekend and get some family time and a warm hug if she needed them. But Charlotte did not comment. Her heart was beating quite heavily now, and she had the distinct feeling that something was spiralling back into her life that she had been dreading and hoping for in the same degree. Spiralling back with lightning speed.

“Take a seat with us,” Crowe invited her. Both he and Fred were taking out their phones. “There are some more people here wishing to say merry Christmas to you.” As she sat down between them, they set up their devices on the table, and within moments, first James appeared on Fred’s screen and then Babington on Crowe’s. Charlotte gasped again, and for some very stupid reason, her vision was suddenly blurred.

“Hello, Charlotte,” Babington beamed, and “Are you alright, Charlotte?” James asked, leaning forward on-screen and looking slightly concerned.

“But… but…” She had no idea what to say. This was utterly unreal.

“I believe that’s her way of expressing that she’s happy to see you too,” Crowe said. “You _are_ happy to see us, aren’t you, Charlotte?”

“I don’t understand what this is about,” she finally managed to say, even though she did have a vague inkling.

“It’s about Christmas,” Babington explained. “You know, Charlotte, we have been… oh. – Are you alright, my darling?” he called to someone in the background. “Sorry… I’ll be back in a second…” He vanished from the screen. Crowe sighed deeply.

“That’s Babington’s lady. Morning sickness. Though in her case, it’s also noon sickness, evening sickness, and night sickness.”

“That’s… very good news,” Charlotte said. Not the all-around-the-clock-sickness, of course, but the reason for it. It was indeed: she was glad for Babington and Esther. Yet it took her a few seconds to accept that for some people, life had simply gone on and become even happier when hers had essentially turned into an empty waiting room. 

“At least we know for sure that the baby will be neither a boy nor a girl but a bird.” Crowe stretched with a yawn. He turned to Fred. “Which reminds me… do you have it?”

Fred grinned, ducked under the table and returned with a paper bag. “Had to pinch it from the office and sneak away from under Mr Parker’s eyes, but here we are,” he smiled, putting Esther, the wooden seagull on the table.

“Merry Christmas, Charlotte,” Crowe said, and “Merry Christmas,” James and Fred added in unison.

Charlotte was staring from Esther to Crowe and Fred and from Crowe and Fred to the phone displaying James’s friendly face. “You have come here to give me the seagull for Christmas?” she finally asked, still unable to process anything of this. Ten minutes ago, she had not expected to see either of the men ever again – just not to mention the seagull. And yet, here they were, all four of them, plus the wooden Esther.

“Technically, it’s Babington’s wife who wanted you to have the bird,” Crowe said. “It’s hers. But as you can see, she’s indisposed right now, so Mr Robinson and I volunteered to act as Fathers Christmas. It’s been a bit of a ride, but all things considered, definitely more entertaining than another day of fake festivities in the purple hell.”

“But… but…” Charlotte shook her head. “How did you find me?”

“It’s Christmas.” Crowe gave her wink. “We had a little angel on our side.” She wondered whether he was actually inebriated again. He seemed quite sober, though, just drinking coffee. On-screen, James rolled his eyes at him.

“Your sister has been a bit of a help, Charlotte.”

“Alison?” Now, this was…

“Don’t get mad at her. She is just as concerned about you as everyone else. So, after calling your family once, I called… again… now and then… and we started talking a little.” Alison. Chatting quietly behind her back with James Stringer. Asking her half an hour ago in her text whether she was looking forward to her Christmas surprise. Alison Heywood, nineteen years old, farmer’s daughter, conspiracy mastermind from Willingden, Herefordshire.

Charlotte leaned forward, trying to make out the background on Fred’s phone screen. “Where are you?”

“In Vancouver. I started the internship three weeks ago. – Best decision ever.” Just another case of life going on. But she was glad for James. He truly deserved a bright future.

On Crowe’s phone, Babington returned to the screen. “Sorry. That one took a little longer. – I see you have been given your present, Charlotte.”

“Yes. Thank you.” She did not know what else to say. This was the weirdest Boxing Day ever.

Babington cleared his throat. “When I gave Esther the seagull, I told her that love only ever sees the beauty in the beloved, never the ugly. And that the wooden Esther was a reminder of my constant affection.” Charlotte nodded. She remembered that exchange very well. It had been followed by Esther dumping the bird into the bin. And by Charlotte saving it. “And now,” Babington went on, searching her gaze, “we believe it’s time to let you know that there is someone in Sanditon whose affection for you is as constant as ever.”

She gasped, and her world fell apart. The walls and watchtowers she had carefully erected around herself during the past months crumbled down, her inner army surrendered without so much as firing a shot, and what was left of her gave a monumental sob and broke down into tears. 

“Bravo,” Crowe nodded as Fred handed out paper napkins. “Well done, Babbers. Thank you.” On Fred’s phone, James looked as if he was going to cry as well. 

“Oh, dear,” Babington said. “My dear Charlotte, I didn’t mean to be intrusive…” Crowe rolled his eyes.

“Certainly. You are the least intrusive person in the world, Babbers. Everyone will confirm that, especially your wife, who kept telling you to shove off while you were declaring your love again and again and again. – Now, look Charlotte, I have no idea whom you might be thinking of, but the romantic online-fool was talking about young Henry’s affection, of course. Seems the young lad is a staunch admirer of yours.”

Charlotte blew her nose. Thinking of darling little Henry with his sticky fingers, his wet kisses and his cute smile only made her tears roll again, but not as violently as before. Fred kindly patted her back. “Don’t you worry, we’ll make sure you’ll see him again,” he said. “Young Henry, that is.”

“And only if you want,” Babington added. “In fact, it’s the Sanditon Christmas Ball tonight, and we were wondering whether you might like to attend.”

Charlotte stared from Babington and James on the phone screens to Fred and Crowe sitting next to her, all four of them smiling benevolently like the three holy kings handing out their gifts. Which was wrong, because there were four of them, not three. And they had all gone mad, no doubt about that. 

“I’m sure Tom Parker will be happy to provide a service uniform and a tray if that would make you feel more at home,” Crowe added.

“But essentially, we had hoped you would join us as our guest,” Babington said. “We believe you truly deserve a bit of fun.”

“I… I don’t believe I would have any fun at a Sanditon ball,” Charlotte admitted after a moment. On a more practical level, she added: “And we’re in Birmingham right now.”

“It’s less than three hours,” James said. “You could be there by nine.”

“Babbers has lent us his car,” Crowe explained.

“You might miss Tom Parker’s opening speech,” Fred added. “But I don’t think that’s a huge loss.”

Charlotte shook her head. They had to be drunk, all four of them. Yet, they appeared completely sober, even Crowe. “I have obligations here,” she said. “I can’t just go to the other side of the country.”

“You’re off duty now,” Fred pointed out, and James added: “Alison says they were expecting you at Willingden tomorrow, but given the circumstances, they are happy to wait a few more days.”

“Are they,” Charlotte said wryly. “Is this a conspiracy or something?”

“No,” Crowe said with a grin. “It’s a carefully laid out plan to lure you back to the shores of Sanditon.” 

“And if I say no?”

“That’s not part of the plan.” 

Charlotte got up, nearly knocking the seagull over. “I think this is a very cruel joke. I can’t go back to Sanditon. Not…” Not as long as that… that… that woman was there, smiling her false smiles, holding on to Sidney as if he was her lifeboat on the Titanic (that smug look on her face in the ad for her stupid Eliza show!), poisoning everyone and everything around her with her ego.

“Charlotte!” Babington called out on-screen. “Don’t go. This is not only about little Henry missing his favourite babysitter. It’s about the soul of Sanditon.”

Crowe was rolling his eyes. “Truly, Babbers… sometimes you sound like the wrong result of a Google search.”

“But he’s right,” James agreed, and even Fred nodded gravely and repeated in a somewhat solemn way: “The soul of Sanditon.”

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t listen to this any longer,” Charlotte said, and indeed, she could not. At least not without dissolving into tears once more. Crowe leaned back, watching her. 

“Another first. Admiral Heywood shying away from a battle.”

“I’m not shying away. I don’t believe in lost causes.”

“Sanditon’s soul is not a lost cause,” Babington urged her. “Even though it’s in grave danger, with EMIL putting everyone on edge.”

“EMIL?” Charlotte asked, momentarily confused.

“ _Eliza – Madly in Love_.” Fred grinned. “The film thing they are doing at the hotel.”

“And it’s so bad, they don’t even get the title right,” Crowe added. “Truth be told, it should not be EMIL but EMAIL. Eliza – mad and in love. With herself, not anyone else, of course.”

“Crowe is not a fan,” Babington explained. 

“Neither are you!”

“No, but I didn’t run into the Christmas tree, making it topple over, while they were filming the kids merrily opening their presents.”

“It was actually the fourth time they had to open those silly presents. And they did not like them any better than during the first take. – So the run-in with the tree,” Crowe added with some dignity, turning to Charlotte, “was a well-planned stunt to sabotage the filming process.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, and she really did not. The whole hotel seemed to have turned into a madhouse.

“Of course you don’t, because you haven’t seen it. How would you describe it, Babbers?”

“Purple,” Babington said. “We’re having a purple Christmas at Sanditon.”

“Used to be mad Eliza’s face colour whenever someone mentioned your name, Charlotte,” Crowe added. “Now it’s all over the hotel.”

“But what is it you want from me?” she asked, sitting down with them again. Did they really expect her to go to that stupid ball, smile and say hello to everyone, including Sidney Parker as if nothing had ever happened? With the cameras zooming in on mrscampion preparing her next blow? 

If she ever were to see Sidney again, it would have to be in a quiet moment, just the two of them, speaking honestly and openly with each other. And certainly not anywhere nearby a camera.

“Now look, Charlotte,” Babington said with a furrowed brow. James, Fred and Crowe were staring at her with rather sorrowful expressions as well. “We don’t know exactly what has transpired. All we know is that on the evening before the fire, Sidney never took his eyes off you. Next thing we hear is that you have vanished from the surface of the earth, and Eliza Campion walks into the hotel lobby and takes the measurements for her handbag display.” Charlotte cast her eyes down. She could see it, very clearly: mrscampion, taking possession of her new domain. 

On-screen, Babington sighed. “You know Sidney, Charlotte. Doesn’t say a word, just keeps soldiering on… clenched up like an oyster. Takes the whole world on his shoulders, and if the whole world turns out to be a bit too heavy for him, he’ll just twitch his mouth, have a Chivas Regal or two and go for a swim and a meeting with the punching ball.”

Charlotte could not help but smile at this accurate description of Sidney Parker. _A Chivas Regal or two:_ it nearly seemed as if her worst fear had not come true and Sidney was not drinking his way down Dissolution Row. Was it conceivable that-

“Something has changed him,” Babington went on. “Or shall I say: someone? – For who, my dear Charlotte, would know better than I what love can do with a man?”

“Babbers,” Crowe sighed. “If that lordship-thing doesn’t work out for you, you might consider a career in texting greeting cards.” He moved the wooden Esther a little closer to Charlotte. “Here’s the thing, Admiral Heywood: Babbers and I have been draining most of the hotel’s champagne supply over the summer while listening to Sidney not talking about you. I can’t believe you want such a sacrifice to be in vain.”

“I really… I can’t,” Charlotte mumbled, torn between reason and longing. Reason told her that Sidney Parker was very welcome to clear up this and any future mess on his own. Longing told her that there would be forever this room in her mind, this particular room dedicated to him and that she would visit this room very often to cherish their memories – whether they were happy, painful or bittersweet.

“Come on,” Fred said. “Whatever he’s done, his silly big brother has done worse.”

Charlotte dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “I… I can’t.”

On-screen, Babington leaned forward. “In the end, it all comes down to one question, Charlotte. Are you strong enough to face a life without him? Or are you strong enough to forgive?”

“That’s two questions,” Crowe said. “But the general idea is correct.”

Charlotte shook her head. “You don’t understand.” Clearly, they had no idea about the details of Sidney’s shabby TV deal. And of course, they knew nothing about special moments and distant countries and secret London affairs. And yet, they deserved some honesty, simply for the effort they had taken to deliver Esther to her. “I can’t go back to the hotel. Not as long as… as…” Just to think of that woman seemed to curl her tongue. She tried once more. “Not as long as Eliza Campion is there.”

Babington and Crowe exchanged glances. Or did they have an idea about the deal?

“You don’t have to go to the hotel, you know,” Fred finally said. “You can meet at my place. Neutral ground. Off the hotel premises. Just to have a little chat. Talk things through. Find a way ahead.” Just to see my hopes rising again, then to be crushed once more, Charlotte thought. And judging by her experience so far: see them crushed even more brutally. 

Crowe leaned forward. “Might turn out you see him again and think: _ah, what a pretty bore, the memory’s so much better than the man – I’ll just tell old Crowe that he may take me out for an ice cream on the promenade after all_.”

Charlotte smiled against her will but was unable to say anything as the tears were coming back. The last time she had been in such an emotional mess was on the 7.16 from Sanditon to London Victoria. Sidney, tumbling back into her life, so unexpectedly – in fact, nothing but a nod and a three hours’ drive away. _Or are you strong enough to forgive?_ She knew the answer to that question.

“Charlotte,” James said. He had been rather quiet during the conversation, but she felt that he had been watching her very closely. Dear James, who was only proving once more what a good soul he was. 

“Do you remember the tale of the giant sea serpent?” he asked.

“Of course I do.” Charlotte had to dab her eyes again.

“And do you remember how the sea serpent was vanquished?”

“I believe… one year when it demanded the sacrifice of an innocent girl, a gallant boy from the village confronted the monster and fought it down.” 

“Exactly,” James said. “But that was in ancient times. Times have changed now, Charlotte. Maybe these days it’s the boy who is being drowned by the monster. Maybe these days it’s the boy who has to be saved by a brave and determined girl.”

Charlotte opened her mouth but closed it again. James kept looking at her from the phone screen, his kind eyes a little sad, but also full of affection. “Please, Charlotte. Go to Sidney. Save him from drowning.”

“Ahem,” Fred said after a while, handing out paper napkins again. “That’s a yes then, right? Just asking. It’s still a three hours’ drive.”

Charlotte blew her nose. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen, Friends Will Be Friends  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAQ4sJZ5IsU&list=RDDAQ4sJZ5IsU&start_radio=1
> 
> It may take a little longer until the next update – real-life is calling. However, with Sidlotte’s destiny entrusted to the competent hands of Crowe, I have absolutely no idea of what could go wrong now.
> 
> Some of you have commented on how reality TV changes the people taking part in it. I don’t want to swamp this notes section, but I’ll add a comment down below with some of my thoughts about the influencer and reality TV topic (be warned, it's... not exactly positive).


	36. Sidney on the Rocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s another piece of writing advice: Never, absolutely never, introduce an animal into the story. Or young children. It starts with a cute little seagull, but before you know, you find yourself chasing dinosaurs on Twitter while keeping the Parker offspring from wiping their sticky fingers on Auntie Eliza’s handbags. It’s not exactly the sort of escapism I expected when I started writing this story.
> 
> As some observant readers have pointed out, the four kings aka the four horsemen of Sidlotte (or maybe just the author of this story) have forgotten to pack a ball gown for their charge. We will have to rely on Mary’s kindness once more, I suppose.
> 
> This is a tissue-free chapter (I hope). No drama. Just Sidney out for some serious self-reflection, Charlotte in the safe care of her friends, and mrscampion being msrcampion. Time to take a breath and relax while the service crew is preparing what will be a memorable Christmas ball.

Sidney walked into the lift’s utility room on the fifth floor and closed the door behind him. One of the upsides of growing up in a hotel was that even fifteen years later, he still knew all the secret nooks and corners. This one was one of his favourites: at the back of the room, a steep staircase led up to the roof exit. Of course, it was strictly forbidden to go out on the roof unless one was “authorised personnel”, but that was an order Sidney chose to ignore as nonchalantly as the local parking laws. 

He opened the trap door and stepped out into the cold and bracing air of a December afternoon. He would have preferred a swimming exercise down at the cove, but that would have been close to suicidal, given the hour of the day and the current water temperature. So the roof was as secluded and invigorating as it could get right now.

Sidney leaned against the chimney and watched the dusk settle over the land, the town and the sea. His gaze followed the slope of the cliff down to Sanditon, now nothing but a dark silhouette encircled by the shimmering bend of the river in the last light of a setting winter sun.

It was a landscape shaped by generations of Parker men. The Denhams might be the local baronets, but for centuries, their main activities had been sitting on their money and watching the deer from their icy oversized drawing-room. That’s what they had been doing when the first Thomas Parker had started building his model seaside resort. When his son Henry had added the hotel. When the Parker family had steered their hospitality business through two world wars. When Sidney’s father had converted most of the land into the golf course, and even now when Tom’s Regency Row was nearing completion for the second time. Sanditon was the creation of all those Parker men, the result of dreams and visions unswervingly followed through.

And despite all the financial issues and personal sacrifices, being a Parker was still much better than being a Denham. The Parkers had truly left their mark on Sanditon, and they were going to continue to do so, at the hotel or elsewhere. Tom’s children simply had it in their blood. 

The Denham family, on the other side, after centuries of lounging around, was quickly disintegrating, with Esther being the lucky one that got away. Earlier in autumn, Lady Denham had suffered another stroke and became rather frail since rollator replaced her cane. Even though she still enjoyed voicing her opinion, especially if it was unpopular, that voice was much less piercing now. 

The stroke was her personal aftermath of the drama of Clara and Edward. Edward, still refusing to marry his cousin, had finally absconded to the States, accepting a position as a golf instructor at an exclusive resort in Florida.

And Clara had lost the baby. That was the real tragedy: one life lost, and everyone silently agreeing that maybe the baby had sensed that it had been begotten not out of love and affection, but for mercenary reasons. That it would be born into a sick family, unloved and unwanted by its father, rejected by its great-aunt, forever used as a weapon by its mother in her fight for the Denham inheritance.

Sidney sighed once more. In an ideal world, he would free Tom from Lady Denham’s still constant threats and from the insecurity that would ensue on the day she died. 

But the world was not ideal. In reality, the hotel’s financial status was much better than half a year ago but still vulnerable, and Eliza’s threats to “end all and everything” were even more frequent than Lady Denham’s. They were most frequent, though, when the cameras were rolling. One of the pitfalls of life in reality TV was that every minor disagreement was blown up to a major relationship threatening crisis. It was very tiring, especially given the nature of his relationship with Eliza. 

Yet, right now, Sidney was feeling strangely at peace. For the first time in months, he did not crave the punching ball. Being honest about Charlotte had been good – even though (or perhaps: mostly because) his sympathetic listener was a five-year-old boy.

Opening up to George Lambe and coming clean about the Marissa episode had freed him in a way he only now came to understand. But if he truly wanted to be a better man, there was one more step he had to take.

Over in the rain gutter, a giant herring gull settled down, turning its head to him. It was too dark now to make out more than an outline, but even so, he knew it was Charlotte’s herring gull, come to check on him. Leaving a daily message on the shiny engine cowling of the Aston Martin was not enough for the old bird. It liked to follow him here and there and also down to the cove when he went for a swim, always bending its head and looking at him as if it wanted to say: I know everything about you, Sidney Parker. You can hide your heart away from your family, but not from me.

And of course, the bird knew everything. It had been sitting outside the window front of the Denham Suite’s master bedroom after the End of Season Ball in September when filled with a too comfortable dosage of Chivas Regal, Sidney had allowed Eliza to drag him to her room because she wanted to “show him something” – which he in his state of inebriation expected to be a new handbag design. In fact, what she wanted to show him was her new lingerie.

Yes, he was very drunk. And even more drunk with missing Charlotte. So he was not too drunk to understand that it was _Eliza_ who was trying to touch him and that he better kept the sorry remains of his brains together if he ever wanted to look at his face in the mirror again.

He had rolled off the bed within two seconds after landing on it. Wrong bed, wrong woman: everything was wrong. Eliza started hurling pillows and insults at him, and the herring gull, having its own opinion on his moment of weakness, had flapped and bickered at the window. Eliza, totally unnerved, had shouted death threats at the whole of the local avifauna. And Sidney had stopped drinking that night. Not altogether, but at least drinking too much.

That was Eliza’s final attempt at starting something like a love-life. He was not interested anyway, and luckily, she had to uphold a decent, clean, spick and span family-friendly image for her cooperation partners. Implying saucy details about her non-existing supernatural sex life in front of the camera or on Instagram went against that image, so she did not do it, leaving Sidney with one worry less and grateful for small mercies. Even without saucy implications on social media, it was bad enough to imagine what Charlotte might be thinking when she stumbled over those horrible photoshopped promotion pictures for the show.

Charlotte. There was no warmer and safer place in the world than in the memory of her. A flicker of her smile, popping up completely unexpected. That careful, tender way in which she had touched his face as if she wanted to make sure that he was real. All those memories of the early summer. Charlotte, building a sandcastle on the beach with Jenny and Alicia. Marching on the cricket pitch as if she was Admiral Nelson. Holding Gigi’s hand when the police led Otis away. Looking up to him at the premiere party, her luminous eyes full of hope. Sighing softly in his arms the night after the fire.

He only wished that she was well wherever she was. That she was with her family. Or with friends, with people caring for her and taking her mind off the shabby thief that was Sidney Parker.

He had to end the Eliza show, of course. That was the key finding of the day: he had to end it. As soon as possible. The longer they dragged out this reality TV nonsense, the greater the damage, not only to any possible reconciliation with Charlotte but also to his family. 

He could not wait for George Lambe to come out and suggest he bought out Eliza. As much as he hoped for George to make an offer, it was anything but a safe bet. Yet he had to end it with Eliza now and bear the consequences, whatever they might be. And he had to find Charlotte. Rip her from the side of James Stringer, if necessary. Go down on his knees, hold his head in shame and humbly beg for her forgiveness (though knowing Charlotte, he expected her not to insist on going down on his knees. She would probably prefer a serious and sincere face-to-face talk). It was the one thing he understood now with absolute clarity: that his life would never be complete unless he found a way to make Charlotte return to it.

Over in the gutter, the herring gull squawked, spread its wings and vanished into the December evening, and as the darkness of another winter night settled over Sanditon, it had finally left Sidney’s heart.

*

Somewhere in the middle of Oxfordshire, a herd of cattle had broken a fence and escaped onto the motorway, causing an endless traffic jam in the winter night. Fred was tapping nervously on the steering wheel. “We won’t get anywhere close to Sanditon before ten,” he said.

“Never mind. As long as we get there.” Crowe, sitting on the backbench, was checking his phone. “Can’t wait for mad Eliza to choke on her extensions when she sees you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte clutched the wooden Esther, preferring to stare out of the window at the cars around them. She had no idea what would happen once they arrived at the hotel. But she was absolutely sure that a reunion with Sidney observed by the cameras was not what she wanted. It was going to be a deeply private moment, and she wanted it to be just the two of them, having an honest and open conversation with each other. 

“I still don’t quite understand how this reality TV thing is working,” she said, trying to get her thoughts distracted. 

“It’s a camera team following her around wherever she goes,” Fred explained. “Some scenes are set up, like the opening of the Christmas presents, because they are sponsored by her cooperation partners, but most of the time they just go somewhere and see what happens.”

“And what happens is usually havoc, because the production team want some action,” Crowe added. “She goes to Brighton for a shopping spree, walks past a children’s boutique and sees pyjamas in a cute baby dinosaur pattern. Decides that all Henry needs for his future happiness are pyjamas in a baby dinosaur pattern. So she walks into the boutique, finds that in his size, they only have baby sharks, and what we have next is a five-minute rant about how much she would have loved to buy these dinosaur pyjamas even though ten seconds before, she did not even know about their existence, and how Henry would have loved the dinosaurs, but not the sharks, and how her day is spoilt by that boutique’s careless manager whose negligent purchasing policy prevents her from being a sweet auntie Eliza. – That kind of action.”

“Oh dear,” Charlotte said, unsure whether she had caught all the details. This reality TV thing seemed to be way more complicated than expected.

“Chocolate cookies, Charlotte?” Fred offered her from an open pack. “Take more than one. You need something to strengthen yourself.” He was right. Was there a better way to gain strength before facing a giant sea serpent than by munching chocolate cookies? Especially since mrscampion certainly never indulged in chocolate cookies, judging by her waist. 

“Sometimes they make her go about modernising the hotel,” Fred went on, offering cookies to Crowe. “Told Arthur and Manoel to go all vegan with the dessert menu. Then she laid out new uniforms for the reception girls. Made them look a bit like… err, well, like ladies you would not exactly expect at a place like the Sanditon Grand.”

“If you see a dent in that seagull of yours, Charlotte, it’s because Babington’s love threw it at her at some stage,” Crowe said. “Should work on her marksmanship, though. Didn’t hit her head.” Charlotte choked on her cookie. A vegan dessert menu and Esther throwing her wooden namesake: it was as if mrscampion really was pulling out the worst from everyone around her.

“When the production team find nothing else for her to do, she starts redecorating the place. Calls it visual improvement and upgrades in style, but in the end, it’s always pampas grass, golden vases and scented candles from her new home design line,” Fred explained. “The whole place smells of something called cosy winter apple or mellow vanilla dream. Think she even suggested to take down the family gallery and replace it with a giant wall tattoo. But on that occasion, Mrs Parker stepped in. - I always believed Tom Parker was a nightmare to work with… but Mrs Influencer…” He shook his head.

“But who would want to watch such a show?” Charlotte asked. It seemed to be all-nightmare-TV and not a happy family watch-along.

“Probably people as shallow as her,” Crowe said. “Which theoretically makes me her biggest fan.”

“And as you don’t seem to be a fan, that’s the best proof that you are not as shallow as you claim,” Charlotte concluded. 

“Ah, Admiral Heywood! How we have been missing your never-ending positivity!” Crowe beamed. “Do you really not care for an ice-cream on the promenade? By invitation of your friend Crowe?”

“I actually don’t even know your first name,” Charlotte admitted.

“Francis.” He gave her a wink. “There is a reason why I go by the name of Crowe.”

“And Babington?”

“What about him?”

“What’s his first name?”

“Well, it’s Babington, of course.”

“But isn’t he a lord?”

“Yes, of course, he is. Babington Something Posh Babington. These ancient families have the weirdest names and traditions. But mind you, Charlotte: no one but me might call him Babbers, not even his seagull.”

“I’ll keep that in my mind,” she said with a chuckle.

“I’m still Fred,” Fred told her. “Robinson. No lordship, I’m afraid.”

“I think you’re just fine as you are,” Charlotte smiled.

“Speaking of names, Charlotte.” Crowe looked up from his phone. “Suppose Parker never told you how you’re registered in his contact list?”

“Well, I suppose it’s Charlotte. Heywood. Or perhaps Miss Heywood.” They never had had enough time together to find any better endearments than “Mr Parker” and “Miss Heywood” – which did not exactly count as endearments. But she did remember Sidney calling her a siren.

“Wrong,” Crowe said, looking very pleased with himself. “Actually, it’s staring you right in the face when you look into the mirror.”

Fred chuckled. “I know it! Now that is true love, Charlotte, if it turns a man driving such a car into a sweetheart-softie.”

“Especially if you consider that when they exchanged numbers, they had spoken about two civil words with each other,” Crowe added. “I know it all, I was sitting right in their war zone at Lady Denham’s luncheon party.” Fred laughed even more.

“I think you’re talking silly nonsense,” Charlotte said, checking her face in her pocket mirror. “Both of you, actually.” What would Sidney call her? Bambi? For her large brown eyes? Freckle? For those two or three tiny little spots on her nose? The only other prominent feature she could think of was… oh dear. She only had to close her eyes to feel Sidney’s thumb brush her dimple, just before he was leaning over to kiss her.

“Don’t tell him that it was I who gave him away,” Crowe grinned. “Say it was a little seagull that whispered it to you.” Charlotte stowed her pocket mirror away and decided to stare out of the window. Dimple. She had to wipe a tear from her eye, remembering how he had left the shells on her windowsill in a heart shape. 

There was such profound and sincere emotion under all those jaded layers of Sidney Parker. All their Skype talks during his doomed week in London. How he had opened up to her, had been honest about Marissa and Eliza, and talked about his parents. How he had held her the night after the fire, promising her that special moment. Even his plea for a secret relationship, shameful as it was: he must have been so desperate to keep what little they had. 

“There, there,” Fred said, handing her one of the napkins he had precautionarily stolen from the hotel bar. “The worst is over, Charlotte.”

They spent some more minutes watching the headlights of other cars around them in the traffic jam, Fred tapping on the steering wheel, Charlotte clutching the seagull, Crowe checking his phone. “The next exit is quite nearby. If we leave the motorway, we can take a shortcut and get around the congestion,” he suggested.

“Well, that’s definitely better than having the way forward blocked by cattle gone wild,” Fred said.

“Indeed,” Crowe agreed. “That one crazy cow at the hotel is bad enough.”

*

Breaking up with Eliza only one hours before the beginning of the Annual Sanditon Christmas Ball was not the best-laid plan. Yet, it had to be done, whatever the consequences for the hotel, for EMIL, for him. But when Sidney knocked on the door of the Denham Suite, he only found Eliza’s stylist and the ball dress that was going to replace the original chocolate-stained gown. “She’s been called down to the ballroom,” the stylist said. “Some urgent decoration situation.”

Sidney checked his phone. Indeed, he had missed three calls and two messages. So it was a major crisis. A camera-worthy crisis. He hurried down to the ballroom and found Eliza and Tom standing underneath the balcony, deep in discussion with the F&B manager; a camera team sneaking around them like hungry hyenas.

“There he is, my dear,” Tom said with his trademark broad grin. “I’m sure he has a solution.”

“Sidney!” Eliza cried. “We are having a real problem here.”

“Do we?” he asked, reluctantly walking on stage. He noticed the cameras zooming in on him, and as always, he felt himself turning into the squinting brother of Norman Bates.

“Look, we’ve been putting up the handbag stall right here, but now Emmanuel insists on moving it into the corner over there.” 

“As I told you about ten times before, this is an emergency exit,” Manoel said with a bored expression, pointing at a green sign over their heads. “We cannot block it.”

“Then we move the handbag stall over to where the champagne station is and put the champagne station into the corner,” Eliza suggested. 

“Splendid. Splendid!” Tom clapped his hands. Manoel shook his head.

“That would double the waiters’ walkways to the bar and the galley.”

“And that would be very unfair towards our service crew, Eliza,” Sidney translated, ignoring a quick flash of Charlotte in her black uniform walking through his mind.

“But is it fair towards me? To hide my handbags in that corner?”

“I trust most guests don’t come to the ball because they want to buy a handbag,” Sidney said.

“Sidney!” The cameras immediately zoomed in on her. “I expected you to be on my side! To support me!” She turned to the nearest camera, speaking directly to it now. “To me, supporting each other is vital in a relationship. Supporting each other, moving towards one common goal – those are the pillars on which a successful partnership stands.” Oh Lord, she was in full reality TV mode. Some idiot from the production team was even signalling her to continue. “This lack of support is very disappointing. I will have to discuss it with Sidney because I need to be sure he is one hundred per cent on my side before we move on.” 

“Speaking about moving on,” Manoel asked, “can we move the stall now? Because I really want my crew to have enough time to go on a break before the action starts.”

“You’re ruining the scene!” Eliza cried. The F&B manager shrugged his shoulders.

“Haha!” Tom said, clapping his hands. “Tensions rise, tensions explode, life goes on. We’re all a bit excited about the ball, aren’t we? I hope the service crew is complete, Manoel? No one calling in sick?”

“The team is complete,” Manoel confirmed. In fact, Sidney knew that since their invoices were being paid on time now, the temp agency had stopped cancelling their people. “Though on major events such as this one,” the F&B manager added, “I’m always missing the competence and support of Charlotte Heywood.”

Tom looked as if he had difficulties remembering who Charlotte Heywood was. Eliza was slowly turning purple. Sidney found himself staring at the F&B Manager, his heart thumping in his chest. Charlotte. Always popping up when least expected. 

“Is that your phone ringing?” Manoel asked Eliza, nodding at her handbag that gave a buzzing noise indeed. She grabbed for it, looking at Sidney. “We’ll have to discuss what you said about supporting me,” she declared before moving away to answer her call in private.

Sidney twitched his mouth. She would discuss it. He would end it. Tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments on the previous chapter, especially on the social media topic.
> 
> In the next chapter, you are cordially invited to join the Parker family and their friends for the Annual Sanditon Christmas Ball.


	37. Walk On, Walk On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aargh. Sidney and that bed. I fear I've expressed myself badly. For the record:  
> \- nothing happened in that bed  
> \- he rolled off after about ten seconds  
> \- he was very drunk, very heartbroken and barely able to stand on his feet  
> \- he did remember in time that he was not being his best and truest self  
> (Next time you're in doubt about Sidney Parker's behaviour, please don't blame it on him but on MissToni's occasional struggles with the English language)

“Any idea where Crowe is, Babington?” 

The reception for the Annual Sanditon Christmas Ball was about to start, and Sidney was getting worried about his friend’s absence. Crowe was always a bit of a wildcard, doing largely what he liked and drinking more than he should, but now he had not been seen since the run-in with the Christmas tree and Eliza’s subsequent scolding. Crowe hated Eliza, and Eliza hated Crowe. They did little to hide it. He believed Eliza was a scheming cow, and she believed he was an irresponsible drunkard. It had only been a question of time when they would clash. And now they had clashed, and Crowe was gone.

Babington checked his phone. “Might be running a little late, but he won’t let you down, Sidney.”

“ _Where_ is he? Breaking the bank in the Brighton casino?”

“I believe he’s out on a more… charitable mission.”

“Charitable mission,” Sidney repeated. “Crowe?”

“Why not? It’s Christmas, after all. – There you are, my darling.” Babington turned to Esther, who had just appeared, wearing a blue silk dress that made her look like a fabled creature from the sea. As always, the seagull brooch was fastened close to her heart. “You look stunning,” Babington said, his face as much aglow with love as back in the summer days when he had taken his breakfast to the reception desk and kept Esther working.

“I look horrible, Babington,” Esther said. “I spent the whole day retching, and I would have stayed in bed, but then I would miss Sidney getting our Christmas present.”

“We don’t give each other Christmas presents,” Sidney said, slightly terrified. Or was he missing something?

“It’s a one-off.” Babington grinned happily, winking at his friend. “Special occasion. - Oh. Hello, Eliza.” Sidney turned around. Her timing was impeccable. So impeccable that until now, he had had no opportunity to talk to her. After the handbag stall disaster, she had been busy either with her phone, her Instagram account or her stylist. At some stage, he had had to give up to get groomed himself.

Eliza’s second choice after the ruined white dress was a white mermaid gown with an asymmetrical neckline, leaving one arm bare and the other covered in an elbow-length sleeve festooned with white feathers. It had been provided by one of the fashion labels she was cooperating with, yet, if one was perfectly honest, it was not the best dress for a Christmas ball. The metallic sequins on the bodice and the skirt in combination with the feathery sleeve made her look like an ice queen carrying a bird in moult on her arm. 

However, she was in full Eliza mode: “Hello, Esther – Babington. I hope you’re feeling better, dear?” And as the film crew was following her, she even laid a hand on Esther’s arm and put on an especially concerned face. “Actually,” she said, turning to the camera, “the magic about the Sanditon Grand is how we are one big family. Sidney’s friends have quickly become my own. I really adore Esther, and I’m so excited about the baby. – You are going to be a godfather, aren’t you, darling?” she added, turning to Sidney. Before Sidney could confirm or reject this news or tell her to shut up and stop tormenting his poor friends, Esther was grasping Babington’s arm. 

“Sorry,” she gasped. “I think I’m going to be sick again.”

“Of course, my darling…” Sidney watched his friend and his wife hurry away towards the washroom. 

“Poor darling Esther,” Eliza told the camera. “I’m so with her. A terrible case of morning sickness. But Babington is standing by her side, and I know that Sidney will do the same for me when our time comes. Won’t you, Sidney?”

“Err… what? Ahem, where?” What was she talking about? They were not even having sex, so who was she planning to have children with? “Eliza, I really need to t...”

“’scuse me, Mrs Campion?” One of the film team’s security men was joining them. “Could you come to the admission desk? There seems to be some… disruption.”

“Of course,” she chirped, dashing off towards the entrance, leaving some feathers in the wake. Sidney shook his head. How was he ever going to end this?

“You cannot trust that woman,” someone behind him said. He slowly turned around. He knew that disdainful voice only too well.

“Hello, Gigi.”

“Hello, Sidney.” They were sizing each other up, like old cowboys meeting for the final shootout.

“You look very well, Gigi.” She did indeed, wearing an elegant silk robe the colour of red wine, her hair left in natural curls. She did not need any further adornments, she was a beauty in herself – and more so because for once, there was no more sulkiness in her now lively expression. 

“Sorry, I cannot return the compliment.” Yet, she was still painfully honest. “You look awful. Been hitting the punching ball too hard?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Well, being with that woman would leave any person aggressive. – Have you heard anything from Charlotte?”

“No.”

“Do you think she might turn up for the trial?”

“I don’t think so. As far as I’m aware, there is no call for her as a witness.” Which had been one of his hopes. In fact, he had suggested more than once to Otis’s lawyer that Charlotte Heywood might help to establish an even more complete picture of his client’s character. John Mathews had declined, adding that instead of telling him how to do his job, Sidney better took care of his own muddled affairs and private life.

“I’ll find Charlotte anyway,” Gigi said. Sidney had little doubt about it. “And I won’t let you know when I’ve found her,” she added. “Because what you did to her is worse than what Otis did to me.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “But then I don’t have to face a trial and a prison sentence.”

“No. You’re just facing a life as a coat stand for ugly handbags. Sounds infinitely better.” 

Speaking of ugly handbags: Eliza returned to his side, breaking all into smiles when she saw who was with him: “What a lovely surprise! Georgina!” Sidney wondered whether she would actually remember her own name without seeing it on her Instagram account all the time.

“Mrs Campion,” Gigi said. “I’m glad to catch you.” Was she? Sidney cast her a curious side glance. “I’ve been wondering about those fabled handbags of yours for months.”

“Oh?” Eliza’s smile deepened. “I can make a special deal for you. A discount for friends. And it’s Eliza, of course, not Mrs Campion. Do you think Mrs Lambe might be interested as well? Are you on Instagram?” Gigi shrugged her shoulders. 

“I’m not discussing fashion and social media with my stepmother. We are both more into human rights. Speaking of which – I can assume that your handbags are manufactured in Britain, from raw material fulfilling every aspect of sustainability, by a company adhering strictly to equal pay and equal rights? - No ugly child work in a rundown factory somewhere in a dingy Third World country?”

Eliza gasped. Sidney made a noise that was either a groan or a chuckle, depending on the perspective. Should Gigi indeed decide to make the human rights her vocation, mankind finally stood a chance.

When mrscampion made no reply, Gigi wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, thought so,” she said and walked away.

“Such impudence!” Eliza finally cried. “Money doesn’t make manners, don’t you think?”

That question better remained ignored. “What was that about at the admission desk?” Sidney asked, nodding towards the entrance.

“Oh, just some lunatic claiming he knew me. – The pitfalls of celebrity, Sidney! You’ll have to get used to it once the broadcast starts in January. Are you looking forward to it?”

_It is so real that you plan to go on nationwide television with it, Sidney._

“Listen, Eliza, can we…” He was interrupted by her phone ringing. She pulled it out from under her feathery sleeve and checked the display. “Sorry, I have to get that one,” she said, turning around and moving away from him as she spoke. He shook his head. What kind of call was so urgent that it had to be answered in the throng of a ball? Now that he desperately wanted a quiet moment with her, it seemed to be impossible to get.

Someone was tugging him by the elbow.

“Uncle Sidney, can we dance?” Alicia was looking up to him, large-eyed and expectantly. He could not help but break into a smile. 

Eliza was still on the phone. He would speak with her afterwards.

“Of course we can, Alicia. You’re my favourite dance partner, after all.” He held out his hand, led his niece onto the dance floor and lifted her up, vaguely aware of the cameras following them. Yet, with Alicia beaming at him, it was easy to forget that they were being filmed. He saw Gigi and Arthur joining the dance, as well as Tom and Mary, and Mr and Mrs Hankins. The former Mrs Griffiths was looking much relaxed now that she had to care for a faithful policeman instead of a wayward teenager. 

The band was playing “You’ll never walk alone”, and that alone made Sidney smile. _Hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark…_ He found himself singing, making Alicia in his arms chuckle. _At the end of a storm, there’s a golden sky…_ He drew a dramatic face like an opera singer, making Alicia chuckle even more as he twirled her around. Then she joined his singing: _Walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown, walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart…_ That was precisely what he was going to do now: Walk on with hope in his heart.

“Uncle Sidney?” The music had ended, and Alicia was pulling at his hair to get his attention back. 

“Yes, Alicia?”

“You’re not angry about the dress and the chocolate any longer, are you?”

“I’m still not too happy about it, but I believe I understand Jenny’s intention.”

Alicia nodded. He was about to set her down when she asked: “Why did you lie?”

“What?”

“You said I was your favourite dance partner.”

“Because you are.” 

“No, I’m not. I’m your second favourite, and that’s okay. But I think you would much rather dance with Charlotte.” He stood her on the ground and went on his knees to stay on her level, accepting that he had no chance against the Parker children.

“But I cannot dance with Charlotte right now, no matter how much I would wish for it.”

“Mummy says if you are a good and honest person, your wishes are more likely to come true.”

“I’m not sure I’m such a good and honest person, Alicia.”

“You can try. I’ll show you and become honest about something myself.”

“What might that be?”

She moved forward and whispered into his ear: “On the open-day, I shot the buttercream at Mrs Campion on purpose. I thought she was looking like someone who does not want to get their hands dirty.”

“Yes,” Sidney sighed. “Somehow I’m not exactly surprised.”

“Mummy says you’re feeling better when you have unburdened your heart, and I think I do now.”

“Yet we better make sure Mrs Campion never finds out.” He gave her a crooked smile. Now all he had to do was to unburden his own heart and end his lies. He was looking around for Eliza, but she was nowhere to be seen, and neither were her faithful followers, the camera team. So she was probably down in the kitchen, telling the chef how to cook the midnight-soup, or in the banqueting galley, giving Manoel advice on how to run the service. With another sigh, he returned Alicia to her mother’s care.

“Thank you, Sidney,” Mary said. “That was sweet. – I think I’ve never heard you singing before .”

“I usually don’t practise in public. Have you seen Eliza?”

“No. But she said earlier that she had a surprise for you.”

Oh God, not another one. First Babington, now Eliza. Unless it was Charlotte Heywood popping up on the dance floor, he really did not care for surprises. He excused himself from Mary and Alicia and, carefully circling around other guests, walked over to Babington on the other side of the room. His friend was checking his phone again, nervously tapping the display.

“Where’s your wife?” Sidney asked.

“Keeping her aunt company.” Babington nodded at the box from which a frail Lady Denham kept an eye on the evening’s events, Esther sitting by her side 

“I hope she is feeling better now.”

“At least you can always rely on her timing.”

“Any news from Crowe?” Sidney asked because he really did not want to comment on Esther’s timing for being sick in front of Eliza.

“No,” Babington said with a sigh, glancing at his phone again. “I’m starting to be a bit concerned.”

“You know Crowe. Whatever that charitable mission was you sent him on, he must have stumbled over a casino or joined an impromptu pub tour.” But Babington shook his head. 

“You underestimate him, Sidney. By far.” Sidney, remembering by how far he had underestimated Charlotte Heywood, did not reply.

*

“You’re sure we’re still on track?” Fred was leaning over the steering wheel, peering through the front window into the complete darkness that surrounded them. “This short cut seems to be going on forever. Might have as well stayed on the motorway and waited for the congestion to dissolve.”

“Don’t you worry,” Crowe said from the backbench, checking his phone. “We’ve passed St Andrew Magna and St Andrew Abbas, and will soon be seeing the lights of St Andrew Parva on our right.” 

“That’s quite a lot of St Andrews,” Fred said.

Crowe raised his hands. “I don’t claim responsibility for place names in Oxfordshire.”

“As long as we are still in Oxfordshire,” Fred replied.

Charlotte, clutching the seagull on her lap, was also staring out into the darkness. There was not much to see beyond the headlights of the car. Hedgerows were growing on both sides of the narrow gravel road, and random snowflakes were dancing in the light, melting away immediately. 

“Should get out of this before it turns into a snowstorm,” Fred said.

In the rear mirror, Charlotte saw Crowe holding his phone away from him, first to the left, then to the right and finally over his head.

“There’s no reception on mine either,” she said, wondering whether she should be worried. 

“Courage, Admiral Heywood,” Crowe said. “We’ll get you safely into Sanditon.” 

She was peering into the darkness again. “Didn’t you say this St Andrew… whatever would be on our right?”

“I did. And then it’s just another turn to the left, and we’ll be back on the motorway.”

“It’s only… there seem to be lights on our _left_ side.”

“That must be some other St. Andrew,” Crowe said, still searching for a signal.

“Maybe we better head back?” she suggested.

“And get you to the ball for the midnight-soup? No, no. Trust me, Charlotte, I’m in complete control.”

Charlotte still had no idea what would actually happen once they arrived at the hotel, no matter whether it was before or after the midnight soup. But she was more sure than ever that seeing Sidney again would have to be a very private moment. No cameras, just the two of them. 

“Not sure we’re still in England though.” Fred leaned forward, peering through the windscreen. “This might as well be Wales.”

“Which only goes to show your shocking ignorance of geography,” Crowe replied. “Now beyond the next rise, we’ll see St Andrew D…” – but whichever the next St Andrew was, it was drowned out by the short and unpleasant sound of an explosion. 

“What was that?” Crowe asked.

“I think we are having a puncture,” Charlotte said, gazing out into the snow that was falling more and more densely now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll never walk alone  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gMzW7hr7PU  
> (Golda Schultz, Last Night of the Proms 2020)


	38. From Truth to Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear.  
> I feel a certain sense of dissatisfaction about the previous chapter’s events.  
> Now here’s the thing - I tried to squeeze all of the following into two chapters: a longed-for reunion, an open and honest conversation, some happy fluffy stuff, the resolution to the Parker family’s financial problems, the ubiquitous handbags, more gull action, Sidney redeeming himself, even more fluff, a happy ending, and, of course, the downfall of mrscampion.  
> It was a bit too much. You’ll get all of the above. But in a different order. And it will take more than two chapters.

“Manoel! Have you seen Eliza?”

Now that for once Sidney urgently wanted to talk to her, she was proving rather elusive. She had been called to the admission desk again to sort out some intruder, and judging by Manoel’s facial expression, she had definitely explained to him how to run the service of a significant event. Instead of an answer, the F&B manager just shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve seen her,” Sidney heard Arthur say behind him. “She was on the way down to the kitchen,” his brother added, happily finishing a mince pie. Sidney sighed. So there was going to be a discussion on the midnight-soup. Poor chef.

“Sidney?” Arthur said. “May I say something? Because it’s Christmas, and if you can’t say it at Christmas, when can you, eh?” 

“Go on.” They were not much prone to brother talk, but Arthur was right, this was Christmas.

“It’s only… I admire your spirit of forgiveness. If it were me, I do not think I could bring myself to trust Eliza again after what she did eight years ago. I keep wondering… I keep wondering…”

“What’s your point, Arthur?”

Arthur wiped some mince pie crumbs off his mouth. “I keep wondering whether maybe there’s more to the story than meets the eye?” he asked, searching Sidney’s gaze.

At least he did not mention Charlotte directly. “This is all about saving the hotel, Arthur,” Sidney said through clenched teeth. And saving the hotel was not a matter of trust or forgiveness, but money. But that was nothing he wanted to trouble his brother with, just as he did not comment on the mince pie. It was Christmas, after all. And there was Diana to fuss about the youngest Parker brother and make sure he kept the diet his doctor had prescribed him. 

“Sidney!” Tom, guarding the entrance with Mary, was waiving at him. And as they were talking to George Lambe and Number Three, Sidney walked over to them. Not quite the moment to discuss a multi-million-pounds investment, but at least an opportunity to assess the general climate.

“George was just congratulating me on our TV contract, but I believe you are the man to be praised for that. - He’s done it,” Tom said with a proud smile, patting Sidney’s shoulders. “My little brother. Engineered a most prestigious deal to advertise the beauties of Sanditon to the world.”

Sidney greeted his mentor and the present Mrs Lambe, a good-looking Asian woman in her early thirties who, contrary to Gigi’s previous claims, definitely possessed more than two brain cells. Yet it was George’s face he tried to read, wondering whether he would find lingering disappointment about the earlier revelations on Num… Marissa. But as always, most of his mentor’s expression was hidden behind those thick glasses. 

“It certainly is an unusual deal,” George Lambe said. “But I didn’t expect anything different from Sidney. – Have you met Gigi yet?”

“I have,” Sidney confirmed. “She seems… calmer now. Though not very much inclined to be civil with me.” Or Eliza.

“She will come round, eventually,” the present Mrs Lambe smiled. “It only took her five months on a boat to start being civil with me.”

“I’m not sure I have that much time,” Sidney said, though considering what would happen once he had given Eliza the shove, five months on a boat were a promising prospect. 

“I’m sure we…,” Tom started to say, but whatever he was sure of was interrupted by his wife tugging frantically at his arm. 

“Oh, look, Tom! Look who’s here! Did you know she was coming?” And Tom looked, a broad, complacent grin alighting his face. Sidney, following his gaze, felt his heart stop for a second.

“Well, I had made sure she received an invitation, and I had certainly hoped for her to accept it. What addition of class to the event!” Tom released his wife’s arm and put his whole wiry body into a welcoming posture. “My dear Lady Worcester. We are deeply honoured. You may remember my dearest wife, Mary? And my brother Sidney?”

“Mr Parker.” Lady Worcester bestowed her loveliest smile on Sidney who had to clench his teeth to stop himself from dragging her ladyship into a dark corner to interview her until she spilt out all she knew about Charlotte. She _had_ to be here because she knew something about Charlotte. However, oblivious as always to any kind of undercurrent, Tom continued his presentation: “And please meet our dear friends, Mr and Mrs George Lambe.” 

Lady Worcester bestowed another well-educated smile on George Lambe and his wife before she said: “Shush all that, Mr Parker. I came here to see Charlotte. - Where is she?” she added, turning her smile to Sidney whose heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. The deepest part of the ocean. The Mariana Trench.

“Charlotte?” Tom repeated, looking clueless.

“Yes. It’s been so many months now,” Lady Worcester said. 

“Ah, Charlotte Heywood,” Tom remembered. “She has left us.”

“Oh?” 

“Very disappointing, in fact. She left for a visit to her family and never came back. – Well, what does one expect from a girl so young and inexperienced?” Tom shrugged his shoulders as if he wanted to add: that’s life.

Lady Worcester shook her elegantly coiffed head. “How simply shocking. I came here in the hope to hear some very happy news tonight. After all, when I met them in the summer, Charlotte and your brother were so very much in love with each other.”

“Charlotte and my brother?” Tom shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken. My brother Arthur is more of a… a pastry friend than a ladies’ man.”

“I was not talking about your brother Arthur,” Lady Worcester said. “I was talking about your brother Sidney, of course,” she added, bestowing her friendly smile on that same brother. 

“Sidney?” Tom burst into laughter. “And Charlotte? Now, that is splendid! There was not much love lost between you two, right, Sidney? Whenever I saw you together, you were either at loggerheads or not on speaking terms. Perhaps apart from the morning after the… fire… And of course, that day in London when everyone was pulling together for the sake of Gigi. I actually tried to make some good weather for you with her that morning, but…”

“Tom,” Mary quietly said.

“Now, Mary, come on, this is really funny. She wasn’t even his type!”

“Tom!”

“There is nothing funny about being in love,” Lady Worcester said. “It’s an affliction, and a cure for a broken heart is yet to be found.” Tom laughed a little more, but with nobody joining in, he suddenly stopped and stared at his brother.

“Sidney?” And as Sidney was unable to say anything: “Mary? This is not true, is it?”

“I… assumed there was something between them,” Mary carefully said, searching her brother-in-law’s eyes. “That morning of the Midsummer ball, when they went on a walk together.”

“Did they? I don’t remember. - But Sidney… what about Eliza? You’ve been pining after her for years! And she’s been with you for months now! Madly in love – it’s all over the internet!” 

“Well,” George Lambe said, sharp-sighted as ever behind his thick glasses. “I gather that was the deal you were praising your brother for earlier, Tom. An investment to save the hotel, a production company to vouch for the credit, a love interest for Mrs Campion’s reality show – and Charlotte Heywood gone.”

“What?” Tom was clearly horrified now, his eyes larger than ever. “That is why Charlotte left? Because you asked her to go, Sidney? When you were in love with her? You made her leave to… to save the hotel… to save… _us_?”

Sidney opened his mouth because obviously, he had to say something now – though he had no idea what to say. In fact, he felt the same desperation Henry must have felt when he had unwrapped the Roboflex Monster Toy Figure for the fifth time in a row. He was completely lost in the adults’ strange world, and all he wanted to do was burst into tears and get another hug.

“Hello,” someone behind him chirped. “May I join you?” 

“Mrs Campion.” Lady Worcester acknowledged Eliza with just the slightest inclination of her head. 

“Lady Worcester.” This was accompanied by a new entry for the competition of false smiles. “What is the topic of discussion?”

“Oh,” Lady Worcester said. “I imagine you’ll find our conversation unspeakably tedious. We are talking about the sacrifices some of us are willing to make for love.”

Seconds passed by. No one said a word. It was very quiet, considering they were in a crowded ballroom. It did not matter, though. Sidney was wondering whether, after this night, anything would ever matter again.

“That was great, Eliza, but the camera angle wasn’t perfect,” someone from the film team called. “Can we do a retake right away?”

Eliza did not bother with an answer. She simply turned around and stalked away, again leaving some feathers in her wake.

“Sidney,” Tom declared, apparently coming to his senses. “We need to talk.” Before anyone said anything else, he took his brother by the elbow and marched him out of the ballroom, past the admission desk and down the stairs to the office. Phillida quickly shoved her phone under some reservation papers when she saw her boss.

“Now tell me, brother,” Tom said, switching on the light. “Does Eliza know about this?”

“Know what?” Sidney asked to gain time.

“Does she know about you and Charlotte? Did she make her leave?”

“Tom…”

“Be honest with me! Did Eliza send away the most competent trainee I’ve ever had? Did she force you to get rid of the girl my little brother was in love with?” Sidney felt his mouth twitch. Good and honest? Well, he was going to heed to Alicia’s advice.

“Yes, and yes. And she offered her a compensation amounting to three salaries. Charlotte returned the money. Twice.”

“Oh, my God.” Tom sank down on his office chair, hiding his head in his hands. “The poor, dear girl. Where is she now?”

“I have no idea.”

“What? You don’t know where she is? How she is faring?”

“Tom… can we stop this now? It’s been a hell of a day, and I…”

“No!” Tom thumped his fist on the table. “No, we are not stopping this, Sidney! I was her employer, and more than that, I was responsible for her training, for her education! I had an obligation towards Charlotte Heywood! And now it seems that while I was trying to polish the rough diamond that she was, my little brother was busy breaking her heart.”

“Well, Tom, I can’t say that you were so much concerned about her welfare while she was here. How many hours overtime did she work? How often did you leave her alone in this office to sort out your so-called administration?”

“That’s not the point!”

“But that is exactly the point, Tom!” Sidney cried. “We are here because you are the worst hotel manager on the whole of the south coast, and because your negligence forced me to make a deal I will probably regret until the end of my life. Which is a selfish thing to say, because at least I knew what I was doing when I signed it. – Charlotte, on the contrary… Charlotte…” He choked on his voice.

_I long to explore a distant country._

_I promise you that you will have your special moment._

There they came: not the desperate sobs of a little boy, but the silent tears of a grown-up man. And there it was: not the quick hug of just another relative, but the deep, honest embrace of an elder brother worn down by guilt and concern, meant to console in a moment when consolation seemed impossible. “Sidney,” Tom solemnly said, holding his brother. “I’m so sorry. If I had known… I would not have allowed you to go forward with this TV deal.”

Sidney wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Which is probably why I never told you.”

“But Eliza… you were so happy when you saw her again in London at that party.”

“I never said so. I was surprised… befuddled, I believe – and in a strange way I was even grateful because she gave me another pretence to claim that I was not interested in Charlotte… not at all.” He shook his head at the memory of that evening. If only he had walked over to Eliza, told her to crawl back to wherever she had come from and swiped Charlotte off the dance floor for a happy ever after.

“I don’t understand,” Tom said. “Why would you need a pretence to claim that you were not interested in Charlotte? Why did you not simply tell her that you liked her and invited her out for a date?”

Very good point.

“Because... ” _Nerd. Prim. Babysitter. Miss…? A girl with so little understanding. I don’t think of you at all, Miss Heywood. Have I made myself clear?_

Because some part of him knew from the very beginning and simply by instinct that this was going to be different. That Charlotte would stir emotions in him so intense and so deep that he would rather hide behind a wall of offensiveness then face them. The sheer idea of giving himself into someone’s power again had scared him more than anything else... Of course, it would have been easier to take Charlotte out for an ice-cream on the promenade and tell her that she just had the cutest dimple.

But that was not who he was. Or what Charlotte wanted. She could have had that with Stringer. Perhaps was having that right now with him, somewhere in Vancouver. Though perhaps not an ice-cream, not in mid-winter in British Columbia. Oh, dear. He was overthinking again.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with you, Sidney,” Tom said with a sigh. “First you need eight years to get over Eliza, then you spend weeks if not months fighting with Charlotte, and now you’re due to appear on television as the man Eliza is madly in love with while the girl _you_ are madly in love with is probably crying her eyes out. – If that is not complicated, I don’t know what is complicated. The question is of course: What are we to do now?”

“I’m going to end it. Make EMIL end in tears without renewal for a second season. Because the tears will be ours, Tom when there’s no more backing for your credits.”

“There must be another solution, Sidney. What about George Lambe?”

“I hope he’ll get involved, but I cannot force him to.”

Tom nodded gravely, then looked up, his usual optimism returned to his face. “Right now, we have to look to the future, never to the past. We have to rearrange and adapt our plans, and you’ll see, in a few years we’ll be well up and thriving again.”

Sidney shook his head. Tom would still be babbling about plans and ideas if the giant sea serpent herself came by, plucked him from the safe haven of his office and drowned him in the cold depths of the English Channel. But as he shook his head, he noticed something. He looked again. No, he had not been mistaken. “Where’s the seagull?”

“Hm?” His brother was miles away, lost in the dreams of new projects.

“Esther’s seagull. She’s not sitting on the desk anymore.”

“Sidney, I’m trying to adapt to the fact that my financial base is about to crumble away because of your difficult love life, and you worry about a mouldering piece of wood?”

That did it for Sidney. With a murderous growl, he hurled himself at his brother, ready to beat every inch of that bloody smug Tom-ness out of him.

He did not get far, though. A sharp knock on the door interrupted them, and when they looked up, Tom puzzled, Sidney fuming, both dishevelled, one of the omnipresent production assistants was staring at them. “There you are, Sidney! Can you come up to the ballroom? It’s… err, sort of an emergency.”

“What sort of an emergency?” he asked, straightening his collar and his hair.

“It’s an… err, an Eliza emergency.“

Well, whatever it was (hopefully not another handbag crisis), maybe this was the chance to have a serious talk. Followed by Tom and the production assistant, Sidney hurried back upstairs to the ballroom.

The dancing had stopped, and the lighting had been switched down to semi-darkness. And no, he was definitely not going to have a chance for a serious talk with Eliza, because she was up on the stage at the back of the room, holding a microphone, obviously recovered from her exchange with Lady Worcester, smiling at the crowd and the cameras that were zooming in on her. She was about to give a speech.

“Good evening to you all and welcome to our Sanditon Christmas Ball,” she said. Next to him, Sidney heard his brother cough at the possessive article. “Sidney,” she added and held out her hand to him. He did not move. He was vaguely aware of people staring at him, of his family staring at him, Mary, Arthur and Diana, of Lady Worcester and George Lambe with Gigi and Number Three, of Babington and Esther (still no sign of Crowe), of Mr and Mrs Hankins and Lady Denham… even of Phillida Beaufort, who had left the reception desk alone and come up to the ballroom to watch what was apparently going to be the highlight of the evening.

“Sidney,” Eliza said once more, and he still did not move. The spell that had drawn him towards her on the dance floor of the Regency Excelsior Hotel in London did not work any longer. 

It was the production assistant who pushed him forward, making him stumble on stage. “Sidney,” Eliza said for the third time, and he squinted at her, acutely aware of all the cameras around them, but for once not feeling like the little brother of Norman Bates.

“I can’t tell you how much it means to me to be standing here by your side in this beautiful ballroom,” she said, and, turning to the audience: “I fell in love with this hotel when I was Eliza Mathews, just a little girl with piggy-tails and a tooth gap. I remember those summers of my childhood which I wished would never end. But cruelly, they did, and fate… fate separated me from what I held so dear. This year, fate has gifted me with a second chance, and I returned, a grown-up woman now, marked by the uncertainties of life itself…”

Marked by the uncertainties of life? What the heck was she talking about? Her marriage to a millionaire and the subsequent divorce?

“I’m Eliza Campion now,” she continued, fluttering her false eyelashes. “And I came back to the Sanditon Grand Hotel this year in the hope to find a new home. – And I did find a new home. And a new family.” She dabbed her eyes. “And new friends.” She smiled at Esther and Babington, who did not smile back. Babington was busy with his phone, and Esther looked as if she was going to be sick again. “And I found you again, Sidney. My childhood sweetheart.”

The cameras were zooming in on him. Wait wait wait wait, he thought, feeling panic surge up inside of him. What was going on here?

“You’ve opened a new chapter in the story of my life, and I want to continue writing that story. But not as Eliza Campion any longer.”

No. Oh no. 

“Sidney…”

Yes. She was going to ask him to marry her. In front of his family, his friends, the hotel staff, two-hundred guests, a film crew and several cameras. Just to make sure he did not say no.

Just to make sure she got what she wanted. Which was certainly not Sidney Parker but more publicity, more attention, more handbag sales and a second season for EMIL. She wanted a perfect place for self-promotion. The hotel. And she seriously believed a scene of public blackmail would get her what she wanted. 

Crowe was right; she was completely mad. And lost in her own fake world. 

He almost felt sorry for her and her self-delusion. But that emotion lasted only a split second.

So he would do in front of his family, his friends, the hotel staff, two-hundred guests, a film crew and several cameras what he would have preferred to do in private: make Eliza Campion meet reality. 

Say no to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom-ness: the essence of being Tom Parker (courtesy of Infopidge)


	39. His Best Self

_It isn’t what we say and think that defines us, but what we do. (Jane Austen, Sense & Sensibility)_

Eliza fluttered her eyelashes once more.

“Sidney Parker, do you want to…”

She was distracted by something pushing forcefully through the throng of guests. For a split second, Sidney believed the gym’s punching ball had come alive and was out on revenge now for months of mistreatment. 

But it was not the punching ball that jumped onto the stage. It was a beefy man with a face like a T-bone-steak and hands the size of frying pans. He was glaring at Eliza who with a surprisingly genuine expression of panic moved backwards, nearly crashing into the spotlights. 

“You said it was for show only!” the man roared. “You said it wasn’t real! You said you didn’t love him!”

Eliza gasped for breath and flailed her arms as if he were an intrusive bird she might shoo away. Only that it was not an angry gull that was assailing her but someone apparently closely related to the Hulk. Not green, but red, and definitely in an even worse mood.

Staring at the apparition towering over a trembling Eliza, Sidney decided that distraction might be a good idea. And he knew just the perfect words for a powerful distraction.

“Actually, I don’t love her either,” he said into the stunned silence of the audience. With a buzzing sound, the cameras zoomed in on him. The red Hulk turned his head.

Facing the closest camera full front, Sidney straightened his back and added in a loud and clear voice: “I’m in love with Charlotte Heywood. – That is all.”

After another moment of silence, a cheer went up in the Babington-Lambe corner, followed by more clapping and whistling in the whole room.

The red Hulk did not cheer or clap or whistle. He kept staring at Sidney for another a second, then stomped across the stage until he stood right in front of him. Sidney saw a vein throbbing on his forehead and rage burning in his eyes.

“And you stop slighting my Lizzie-girl, Mr Flashy Car!” From out of nowhere, a fist appeared and hit Sidney right in the face.

“Rick!” he heard Eliza screech before the lights went out.

*****

There was a punching ball in his head, taking revenge for months of mistreatment. Sidney tentatively opened one eye and saw his sister observing him, her face a single large question mark. He closed his eye again. Not a good moment to face interrogation by Diana, not with a punching ball fighting a final battle with his brain. 

Something cold landed on his nose.

“Is it broken?” he heard Arthur ask. 

“I don’t think so,” Diana replied.

“He’s still more handsome than the rest of us,” Tom said.

“Charlotte will love him even with a broken nose,” Arthur declared, sounding very serious about the matter. 

Charlotte. Sidney opened both eyes and sat up, pain shooting in his head. “Is she here?” he asked.

“Now, you lie down!” Diana exclaimed. “You might have a concussion!”

Sidney looked up. He was sitting on the floor of a dingy, dim room, and apart from the concerned faces of his siblings, the only other thing he saw were chair-legs. Somewhere nearby, music was playing. This had to be the banqueting storage behind the stage of the ballroom. He had not been here since playing hide and seek as a child. 

“Is she here?” he repeated.

“No, she’s not,” Tom said, crushing all his hopes.

He leaned back and closed his eyes again, trying to remember what had actually happened. It was not easy with the punching ball still hitting his brain. Maybe he should just ask.

“What has happened?” Something cold hit his face again.

“Eliza’s lover struck you down when she was asking you to marry her and you said you loved Charlotte.” That was Arthur. Sidney tried to open his eyes again. Like a proud father, Arthur was beaming down on him with a broad smile and a happy twinkle in the eyes. Yet there was something wrong with what he had said. 

“Why does Eliza have a lover when she’s asking me to marry her?”

“I told you earlier,” Arthur said. “Don’t trust her after what she did to you eight years ago.”

“She was never after you, Sidney,” Tom added with a sad headshake. “She was after the hotel. A place to sell her handbags and her interior design line. And a background for her reality TV show. - We were all but pawns on her chessboard,” he added rather dramatically. 

“And imagine,” Diana’s look was full of disdain, “she suggested converting part of the gym into a beauty salon so she could promote her eyelashes and hair-extensions.” 

“Right,” Sidney said, touching his nose and temples. Everything was still there. So Eliza had not been after him but after the hotel. Just as he had not been after her, but after her money and contacts with the TV industry. And she had a thing going on by the side with the red Hulk. Just as he had a mental thing going on with Charlotte Heywood. Somehow, they both deserved the mess they had landed themselves in.

“Ahem.” That was Constable Hankins, standing at the door and clearing his throat. Mrs Hankins was hovering behind him, trying to see what was going on inside the storage room. “I just wished to inform you that the villain is safely in police custody now, Mr Parker.” Why did the man always express himself as if he had stepped out of a nineteenth-century novel? “He has been identified as a Mr Richard Pratt. I suppose there is no former acquaintance between you and this individual?”

“Correct,” Sidney said. He had never met the red Hulk before, but he saw something in Tom’s face change. 

“We shall investigate the matter further and keep you updated, Mr Parker,” the constable added.

“Thank you,” Sidney said, and when Mr and Mrs Hankins had left, he turned to Tom, ignoring the pain in his head. “You know something.”

Tom held up his arms, a high red colour in his cheeks. “Not really, no. It’s just… well… you know, there was a bit of a mess after Hetty Matthews’ wedding last year. Never told you about it… didn’t want to stir up old memories. And I never brought myself to send them the invoice after all the hiccup, until… until Charlotte stumbled across it when she… err, sorted out the administration.”

“What do you mean by mess?” Sidney asked, for once ignoring the mentioning of Charlotte. As always, popping up when least expected.

“It turned out that the bridegroom was having an affair with Hetty’s absent sister. – Which would be Eliza. And the bridegroom was a Mr Richard Pratt. So… I suppose Eliza secretly kept up with him when devising a plan to get back with you and to seize the hotel.”

And for that, I broke Charlotte’s heart, Sidney thought. What a fool I was. Lies, greed and deceit. Even if he managed to find Charlotte and explain all this to her: how could she forgive him?

“And you knew that, Tom? You knew that all along?” Tom blushed, lifting his hands again. 

“I believed it was over between Eliza and that… man, of course, when you met her in London. I had no idea…”

Sidney had no idea either. No idea what to do with this idiot of a brother. No idea what to do with his family’s hotel. No idea what to do about Charlotte.

“Can you stand up?” Diana was still fussing around him. Arthur offered him a hand, and with some difficulty and ignoring the pounding in his head, he came to his feet. 

“Are you alive, my boy?” It was George Lambe, sticking in his head. 

“Not very much, but yes.”

“Good. We need to talk.” George had enough authority to make the Parker siblings leave just by his presence, Diana leaving a warning not to exert himself too much. Sidney sank down on a banqueting chair, the punching ball in his head slowing down its attacks. 

His mentor sat down, facing him directly. “So,” he said. “What a denouement. The lovely Eliza a scheming cheat, and you the anything but shining knight selling an innocent girl for the sake of your family.”

“Yes,” Sidney said, rubbing his head. George’s summary was correct, and even if it were not: Right now, he did not have the strength to contradict him.

“Why did you not tell me about Charlotte when we spoke earlier? – I know everything about her, of course. Gigi talks about nothing else. I feel I know more about her than about my ex-wives.”

“I wanted to be honest about Gigi, Otis and Marissa. That’s what I was owing to you. I did not want to bother you with my sorry love life on top of everything else.”

“Then tell me about her now.” George kept looking at him. 

Sidney closed his eyes. Charlotte. He thought of that moment on the driveway up to the hotel when he had noticed someone sitting next to Mary in the golf cart.

_Miss…?_

_Heywood._

That prim tone of her voice and that look on her face as if she wanted to say: _And who are you? Definitely overrated if you forget other people’s names within one second._

“She was the most infuriating person I’ve ever met,” Sidney said. “Stubborn, headstrong and full of baseless assumptions that unfortunately all turned out to be correct.”

“Not willing to admire Sidney Parker and his darling car?” George did nothing to hide his grin.

“No. Not willing to admire anything about me.” Even when given a prime chance to admire practically everything about him, she had turned away, he thought with a rueful smile. If only… he shook his head. “I kept telling myself that she was not my typewhen in truth, she’s one of the rare people whose outer beauty only reflects the even more shining inner beauty. - I spent a hell of a time yelling at her when, in reality, I should have asked her to become the mother of my children. And when we finally had a chance at happiness, there was the fire, and it was all over within a week.” George nodded.

“I see. And I suppose when the lovely Eliza met her, the dislike was mutual?”

“Well, there was not much love lost between them. Charlotte has a way of seeing the positive in other people, but Eliza gave her a tough time with that,” Sidney said. His mentor chuckled softly, taking his glasses off and wiping them thoroughly before putting them on again and leaning forward. 

“Obviously, Gigi does not know the details, but she believes there must have been some shady deal between you, Eliza and the production company,” he said. “Otherwise, Charlotte would not have left without a trace, cutting off any contact with her friends in Sanditon. Knowing the business, I assume money was involved?”

“She was offered a pay-off, but she refused to accept it.”

“Good girl,” George commented. “Shows a backbone.” Sidney hung his head.

“There might be yet another reason for her disappearance.” He had to get it out. It was the right thing to do, for honesty was his only chance now. “I… when I told Charlotte about the deal… when I told her she had to leave Sanditon – I suggested… we might go on with each other in secret.”

He looked up, finding his mentor staring at him, dumbfounded for once. “Sorry, Sidney,” George finally said. “Have I got that correct? One of the reasons that made you fall for that girl is her deep moral compass. Nevertheless, you ditch her for a silly TV show, offer her money as compensation for heartbreak, and as the cherry on top of the cake you ask her to be your dirty little secret affair?”

Sidney kept his mentor’s gaze. “Yes. That’s what I did.”

George leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief. “My God, Sidney… that’s the act of either an utter scoundrel or a man so torn between love, despair and duty that he’s losing his mind.”

“I’ll choose the second option if I may.”

“You do. Especially since you seem to have regained your mind tonight. – That poor girl. And what a despicable creature.” If there was any proof of how agitated George truly was, it was in his incoherent stream of words. “Eliza, I mean. To do that to Charlotte… and you. How did you put up with her? You haven’t gone back to drinking, have you? Or drugs?”

Sidney shook his head. “No drugs, no drinking. At least never too much, not since the End of Season Ball. And otherwise: a punching ball, some bracing exercise, the knowledge that I’m saving the family business, and the memory of better times.” 

“And was that worth it?”

That was indeed the question, now more than ever.

“Time will tell. Until half an hour ago, the hotel was safe, the workers were safe, we were about to be promoted on nationwide television, and my brother did not have to live with the shame of being the one who crashed two-hundred years of family tradition.” George shook his head.

“You were given a devilish choice, Sidney.”

“I know.” They remained silent for some time. Sidney knew that his mentor needed these quiet moments to analyse what he had heard. As his own head was still lodging a punching ball, he did not mind the break. Finally, George spoke again.

“Well, my boy, I hardly know what to say. Truth be told, I always feared your second and last love might be called Aston Martin. So whatever the outcome, I’m glad that you have had the chance to experience true happiness.” Sidney looked down, evading his steady gaze. This was moving way beyond their usual conversations about financial opportunities and investment fonds.-“However, you were right earlier,” George went on. “If you had asked me directly after the fire, I would not have been prepared to pump seven million pounds into a crumbling hotel business, just out of kindness and generosity. – When I see you now, and when I listen to you, I understand though that you have learnt many lessons this year. You are, in fact, a different man.” Sidney twitched his mouth, not knowing what to say. And George wasn’t finished yet.

“I must admit though that I’m not very much inclined to help a former mentee who fell for my ex-wife’s seduction methods the moment she crooked her finger at him. - However much you may regret the event.”

“Honestly, George, I don’t ask…” Not quite true. Of course, Sidney had hoped to ask… His friend held up his hand. 

“Let me finish, my boy. I’m not inclined to help you. Not at all.” It was like another punch in the face. Sidney looked down, abashed. So on top of everything else, this was the end of his friendship with his mentor. 

But George Lambe had something else to say. 

“Yet I might be inclined to help the girl that made you the man I see in front of me. The girl that was prepared to stand by my daughter’s side, no matter what. The girl that was a friend to Gigi when everyone else, including her own father, had turned away from her. – I believe I owe a large debt to Charlotte Heywood.” 

For a moment, Sidney was too shaken to say anything. He sensed his mentor’s eyes on him, and he practically _felt_ his own addled brain cells working out the meaning of what George Lambe had just said.

“I… I suppose Charlotte will tell you that you don’t owe her anything at all. That friendship is nothing to be paid for.” In fact, Sidney could see Charlotte making this statement – her head held high, an indignant frown on her face, her dimple very prominent – could see her so clearly that he almost held out his hand to touch her image.

“And still I intend to thank her by freeing your family’s hotel form Eliza Campion’s influence,” George Lambe said.

“I… I don’ know what to say, George.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Sidney. I’m informing you that I wish to thank Charlotte Heywood for what she did for my only daughter. And come to that, also for the man who is the closest thing I have to a son. And as Gigi will confirm, my only emotion is money, so my thank you will be in the form of an investment.”

“That’s… very generous of you.” To say the least. George shook his head.

“Hear me out. I have five conditions.” He would be a fool if he had not. “The first one: Find your Charlotte. Get on your knees, beg for her forgiveness, and make sure she returns to the hotel and your life. If you don’t manage that, you can forget everything else.” Sidney nodded, a lump growing in his throat.

“Two: Once you’ve brought her back, we will work out a financial solution, but I don’t intend to leave your brother in charge of anything having remotely to do with money. He’s welcome to drive the shuttle bus, lend a hand in breakfast service and entertain guests with Sanditon tales of old, but that’s about it.” Sidney nodded again. Tom’s demotion was to be expected. If he were an investor, he would request the same.

How Tom would take it was another question, but in this regard, he had to rely on Mary’s persuasiveness. However, remembering the messed-up business with Eliza and the red Hulk, Sidney decided that right now, even scrubbing pots in the scullery was too good for his brother.

“Three: Your sister-in-law will find someone to help her with the children and return to her job as the hotel’s accountant.” Clearly, George had been thinking this through. This was an easy condition, though, Mrs Hankins would be happy to supplement her husband’s policeman salary with some extra pay for childcare, and Mary would be glad to go back to work.

“Four: I won’t force you to become a hotel manager, but you will become the hotel’s financial supervisor. No financial decision, no acquisition is to be made without your approval, Sidney.”

“Right.” He would have to scale back the number of his clients, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. He found little joy these days in making wealthy people even wealthier. Though he would always like the commission cheques.

“And five.” George took off his glasses again and wiped them once more. “Take down that purple Christmas decoration. It hurts even in my eyes, and I’m half-blind. - Do we have a deal?”

“We have a deal,” Sidney confirmed and shook his mentor’s hand.

George left the storage room, but Sidney needed a moment alone to process everything that had happened. His head was still buzzing, and yet, the path ahead was strangely clear now. Find Charlotte. Get George Lambe in as an investor. Resolve all legal matters pertaining to Eliza’s investment. Perhaps even find a legal loophole claiming that Eliza’s behaviour had been a breach of contract… well. That might be one road to travel. But not tonight. Not at a ball, not with his headache. 

Outside the storage room, the festivities had simply continued. And why not – to most guests, Eliza’s mishappened proposal and the appearance of the red Hulk had been nothing but an amusing intermezzo. Tom had engaged the Gaelic singer again, and she was now inviting everyone to join her in a dance to her strange and arcane music. 

“Sidney, are you alright again?” Babington, the good soul, came up to him.

“I’d say as alright as can be, given the circumstances.”

“Good. I’m glad you told the truth about Charlotte.” His friend patted him on the back. “Really glad. Wasn’t good for you, you know. All that sadness. - Now I know you have one-hundred million things on your mind right now, my friend, but you don’t happen to have heard anything from Crowe, do you?”

“I thought he was out on a charitable mission,” Sidney said, checking his phone. “Sorry, no news.”

“I hope they didn’t get lost.” Babington shook his head. “And there was snow for parts of Oxfordshire in the weather forecast.”

“You know Crowe.” Sidney wondered what his elusive friend was supposed to be doing in Oxfordshire right now. “He’ll invite himself for a drink, wherever he ends up, and enjoy a jolly evening with the local ladies.”

“Yes. Yes, of course…” Babington sighed. “I’m sorry about the whole Eliza-business, Sidney. What a cheat! But I’m sure we’ll have it all sorted out very soon. By tomorrow, I’d say.”

“I hope so, too,” Sidney said though he did not share his friend’s optimism. What he needed now were some fresh air, aspirin and a good night’s sleep. And then, tomorrow, he would start the search for Charlotte. He did not have one single day to lose.

“Just let me know when you hear something from Crowe,” Babington asked. “It’s all about your Christmas present, of course.”

“Sure.” He really liked Babington, but future fatherhood was making his friend go soft. Sidney had just turned his whole life upside down in front of a TV camera, and all Babington could think of was Christmas presents.

“Sid! Good to catch you!” It was Sam from the production team. “Are you alright again? How’s your head?”

“I’m still alive.”

“Listen, Sid, you won’t sue us for a breach of security, will you? We didn’t know about Eliza and this guy, and security is still figuring out how he came in. He must have sneaked in through one of the backdoors after he had been declined admission at the desk.”

“In fact, he did me a great favour,” Sidney said. “Though I suppose there’s no way to save the show now, is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Eliza, madly in love? But not with me. We made quite a mess of it tonight.”

“Are you kidding me? Tonight was just brilliant! The absolute highlight of the show! A marriage proposal gone completely wrong, the bride exposed as a deceiving monster, the potential bridegroom pleading his love to a mysterious absentee. All we need now is some clever editing, and we’ll get the best ratings ever.”

“But Eliza won’t like it.”

“Do I care what Eliza likes?” Sam snorted. “She better reads her contract. It’s reality TV, after all, and we’ll make her as real as it gets. Doesn’t say anywhere that she will come across as a kind, thoughtful person, or that there will be a happy ending for her, come to that. – By the way, we have been considering offering Arthur a baking show. He’s quite a natural on-screen, and his pastry… delicious. – What do you think? Might he be interested?”

You’ll have to discuss that with Tom and Arthur, Sidney wanted to say when he realised that Tom would not be the one to discuss these matters any longer. “Can we talk about that later? When my head has stopped exploding?”

“Sure. Good man, Sid.” Sam patted him on the shoulders. “And I hope you’ll find her soon. Your girl, I mean. You won me fifty quid tonight, after all.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Most of the team believed you’d last until New Year’s Eve, but when you made such a mess of the photo shooting, I was sure you’d give up before Christmas. I mean look at your face, Sid – they had to photoshop _you_? – And apart from that, it was obvious that Eliza was many things, including mad, but not madly in love. At least not with you.”

“Right,” Sidney said. “And you think you can fix all that through editing and find something to broadcast?”

“Definitely. Though the ending will not be happy for Eliza, and I see no chance to fix it in a second season. Or do you believe your Charity…”

“Charlotte.”

“… Charlotte might be interested in her own show? I’m thinking something like … _ChaRTL: Charlotte - Returning to Love_ … or how about… oh, right, now that’s really cute: _Sid’nLottie – Forever and ever after_ … We may even follow you on your search for her! A modern-day Cinderella tale!”

“No,” Sidney said. “Thank you, but no. My career in reality TV ends right here.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. 

“Pity. If you change your mind, just contact me, Sid.”

“I will,” Sidney promised. 

They had reached the stairs. Sam hurried back to his camera team, and Sidney walked down towards reception. On the half-landing, he stopped to look at the life-size painting of his ancestor, the first Thomas Parker, the great projector, a confident Regency gentleman gazing into a future only visible to himself.

Doktor Fuchs had flattered Tom by claiming that there was a certain likeness between him and his ancestor. Contemplating the portrait now, Sidney could not deny it: there was a resemblance not only in their facial features but even in the wiry energy they both radiated. The first Thomas Parker must have been an as difficult man to live with as his great-great-great-great-grandson and namesake. 

And yet, where would they be in Sanditon without men such as his notorious ancestor? _It is not what we think that defines us, but what we do_. And that was true, for him just as much as for his brother. 

Which reminded him of his task: Ask Phillida at reception for an aspirin, go to bed, sleep, get up early and start the search for Charlotte. Prepare for a visit to Willingden, and in the worst case: a flight to Vancouver and a fistfight with James Stringer.

He leaned on the reception desk, closing his eyes to weather the last strikes of the punching ball in his head while Phillida was rummaging through the office cabinets in search of a pain killer. When he heard her stop rummaging, he opened his eyes again. But she did not offer him the desired pill: she was staring at someone striding down the stairs.

It was Eliza, holding her head high, keeping a regal demeanour, even though her feathery dress looked more ruffled than ever before and her make-up was completely smudged. One of her eyelashes had gone missing as well, making her face look strangely out of balance. But for once, it did not matter, for there were no cameras following her now. “I was looking for you,” she said, her voice as casual as if their last discussion had been about where to have dinner.

Sidney did not feel like talking to her, not now. Not with a punching ball in his head, not with all the revelations still raw and fresh. The legal battle they were facing about her investment was bad enough.

“I believe you don’t want to hear apologies or explanations,” she said, staring at some point behind his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear anything, Eliza.” Basically, he just wanted her to be gone. From the hotel, from Sanditon and from his life. It was only in her best interest. Nothing was going to protect her now from Crowe’s sharp tongue, should he ever turn up again. Or from anyone planting real crocodiles in her bed. Or, probably worse, from Charlotte’s herring gull.

She leaned over the desk, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and jotted down a few words.

“Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel,” he read. “What is that?”

“That’s where you’ll find her.”

“What?”

“Your precious little Dimple.”

Sidney stared first at the four words, then at Eliza. “How do you…”

“I had a private investigator seek her out.” She shrugged her shoulders as if that was just the most natural thing to do. “Posed as a salesman for indoor fountains and had a little chat with her. - It seemed so absolutely impossible that you’d actually dump her - I was convinced you were meeting in secret. Just imagine – me and a camera team accidentally crashing a scene of you two cheating on me! You would have begged me on your knees to maintain my financial engagement and keep your silly brother in business. I would have made sure the conditions of our agreement were amended in my favour to increase my influence on the running of the hotel.”

 _Stay by my side. We’ll find a way to make it work for us_.

_Until she finds out and hell will break out. Then your family’s going to lose everything, and this time, you will not be able to save them._

Charlotte. The girl of no experience and little understanding that knew everything. 

Eliza turned on her heel and strode to the lift, leaving more and more feathers in the wake. Yet something in her demeanour told Sidney that even now, they had not seen the last of her.

He shook his head and looked at the paper in his hand. Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel. What was Charlotte doing at an airport hotel in Birmingham?

“Mr Parker?” Phillida was looking at him, wide-eyed and in disbelief. “Did Mrs Campion really mean what she just said?”

“I think so, yes.” How long did it take to go from Sanditon to Birmingham?

Phillida shook her head and retrieved her phone from under a pile of reservations. “I will unfollow her immediately. And I’ll tell all my friends to do the same.”

And that, Sidney thought, was probably the best way to handle Eliza Campion: to unfollow her and deprive her of all the attention she was craving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter… well. The next chapter is obviously THE next chapter.


	40. Forgiveness

_My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire._ (Jane Austen)

“Mr Parker?”

After a good night’s sleep, Sidney’s head had finally dislodged the punching ball. It was still early in the morning, another cold day about to unfold as the sun rose slowly to a clear winter sky, illuminating the sea. 

“Mr Parker?” It was Julia Beaufort, opening up reception as Sidney was going to leave the hotel for a good, bracing walk before setting off to Birmingham.

“Julia?”

“Lady Worcester left this for you.” She handed him an elegant visiting card with a few handwritten words on the back. _Charlotte, forgive him. We are all fools in love._

Sidney smiled. At least, he had Lady Worcester’s phone number now. If the search for Charlotte proved too hopeless, he would draw on her and her Royal connections. She probably knew someone at MI5. He checked his own phone, just in case. Three messages from Babington. He chose to ignore them. Babington and his ominous Christmas present would have to wait until he had found Charlotte.

“Mr Parker?” Julia was still looking at him. “Philly and I have been chatting. We thought we might start an appeal on social media. For Charlotte. If you don’t find her.”

“That’s very kind of you. Both of you. Thank you.” He felt strangely touched by the offer. “But let me have my try first, will you?”

“Of course. – Mr Parker?”

“Yes?”

“We’d be very happy to have Charlotte back,” Julia said. “Even though she can be a bit of a headache at times.”

“I know.” Sidney smiled. “I know very well.”

A thin layer of frost covered the Aston Martin. It did not stop the old herring gull from parading on the engine cowling, spreading its wings when Sidney walked past, squawking at him, then rising high into the sky before plummeting towards the waterline. 

Sidney also headed towards the shore. What he needed was a little bracing exercise, some cold, fresh air to purge his mind and to prepare for the day ahead – before the rest of the Parker family was awake and ready to bombard him with their guilty conscience (Tom) and their advice (all of them). 

He did not need their advice. He knew exactly what to do. The previous night, after swallowing the aspirin and before switching off the light of his attic room, he had had the most inspiring conversation with the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel’s night porter. This amiable personage had, for once, not referred him to a thing called data protection law when asked about his colleague Charlotte Heywood. 

Quite on the contrary, the night porter seemed to be very happy to have someone to chat to. He did not see much of the administration staff – their working hours not overlapping, obviously – but he did confirm that the manager’s assistant was called Charlotte Heywood and that she was a bit shortish – but not too short, mind you – with brown hair. He could not say whether she would be at work between Christmas and New Year’s Day, but in this regard, Sidney was going to try his luck. If he did not find her in Birmingham, he would continue to Willingden – even if that meant a confrontation with her father and a beating by her brothers. After all, he had survived the red Hulk.

He climbed down the steep cliff trail towards the rocky shore. The old herring gull was still circling in the air above him, squawking mercilessly. 

Sidney stopped a moment to take in the view. On this cold and strangely calm morning, all the features defining the Sanditon coastline seemed to be cut out by a particularly sharp knife: the silhouette of the town to his right, the steeply rising slope of the cliff, the sea itself, a sparkling mirror of the rising sun. 

What a beautiful day this promised to become. 

He turned to the left, towards the cove, passed a family of ever-hungry oystercatchers, spent a few moments studying a rockpool and reminiscing about that lovely, lovely walk with Charlotte when they had stared at birds and barnacles and discussed the weather and its influence on indoor occasions in a desperate attempt to overcome their awkwardness with each other.

And how easy that conversation seemed now compared to the task ahead of him. For when he found her – in Birmingham, Willingden or wherever – would she be willing to listen to him? Would she be ready to forgive him? And would she be free to return to him? That was his worst fear of all: that some handsome Birmingham version of James Stringer had mended her broken heart with a white smile and the promise of a special moment.

He had nearly reached the cove now. There was the spot where he had risen out of the water, there was the rock where he had left his…

Sidney stopped dead in his tracks. Someone was sitting on the rock, turning their back on him, staring out at the sea. Someone wearing a light blue quilted down coat, a white scarf and a white woollen beanie. Someone with long brown hair tumbling down over their shoulders. 

Someone who was always popping up when least expected.

Sidney kept staring at the apparition – for an apparition it had to be – for several seconds, unable to move, to speak or to think.

She would be gone if he said her name. She would be gone if he moved. She would be gone if he so much as breathed.

She slowly turned around as if she had sensed that someone was watching her. There was a perfectly peaceful expression on her beautiful, beautiful face, and her large eyes turned luminous when she quietly said: “Sidney.” 

It was her. She was real. She would not vanish when he moved towards her. She was so real that Esther's namesake was sitting next to her on the rock, her wooden head turned towards the sea.

“What… what are you doing here?” he asked, coming around the rock to face her, unable to process this turn of events, yet mindful to keep a distance, not to intimidate her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “Fred was kind enough to offer me his bed and sleep on the sofa himself, but he was snoring like hell… and poor Crowe in the armchair was sneezing all the time – and I was so restless, I… I just thought I’d watch the sunrise from the promenade, but then I started walking, and I ended up here.”

“You ended up here,” Sidney repeated, not making sense of anything she had said. At least she did not run away from him, and Crowe seemed to be alive, which was both good news. But Fred? Surely not Fred Robinson, Stringer’s friend? Stringer again! Sofa?

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said. “I’m not talking coherently. We had a puncture in a very dead spot of Oxfordshire, and Crowe did not know how to change a tyre and said he was getting a cold. Fred said the last tyre he had changed was ages ago, so I had to talk him through, and then it started snowing, and we got stuck in a snowdrift, and we had no reception on our phones, and they were discharging quickly anyway, so we were getting a bit worried. By the time we came into Sanditon, it was a quarter to three and too late to go to the hotel, so Fred took us to his place, and that was it.”

“That was it,” Sidney repeated, still unable to process what she was talking about. He was too afraid she might vanish if he came any closer, or shout at him and run away, so he just kept staring at her. However, he managed to ask the obvious question. “What were you doing with Crowe and Fred on a snowy night in the middle of Oxfordshire?”

“We were taking a short cut from the congestion on the motorway. That was Crowe’s idea, only that it wasn’t a shortcut, but a detour.”

Sidney shook his head. Something was going on here, and it was definitely the best thing ever, though he had no idea what it was.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again, carefully moving towards her until he was an arm’s length away.

She looked up, fully meeting his gaze for the first time. How beautiful her eyes were, so warm, so wise, yet with a sadness lingering in them that only seemed to underline their appeal. 

“I came here to save you from the giant sea serpent,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea. I thought Babington might have told you. He conspired with Crowe, Fred and James. And Esther. And the seagull. They even made my sister a collaborator.”

“Your sister?”

“Alison. She’s been phoning and messaging with James for months, behind my back. So when Esther said she wanted to give me her wooden sister for Christmas and Crowe had the run-in with the purple tree, Babington got in touch with Fred, and Fred called James, and that’s how they found out where I was.”

“At the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel,” Sidney said. Suddenly, it all made sense. Crowe’s charitable mission. The seagull vanishing from Tom’s office. Babington sticking to his phone all evening.

She looked up. “How do you know about Birmingham?”

“That’s a long story. I heard about it only last night.” Sidney gazed at her again. He longed to touch her, just to make sure that she was actually real, but there was something in her calm and reserved demeanour that made him hold back. “What do you mean by fighting the sea serpent?” he asked instead.

“I did not want to come here. I was so afraid that… that I might be hurt again.” She glanced at the seagull by her side. “They were so lovely… Babington, Crowe, Fred… but I changed my mind only when James said that in today’s version of the sea serpent’s tale, it’s perhaps not the girl but the boy that has to be saved from drowning.”

And who was better qualified to fight a giant sea serpent than Charlotte Heywood, advocate for love and affection, cricket player extraordinaire, the only person in the world bold enough to serve Sidney Parker some unwelcome truths? Sidney smiled to himself, wondering how it was possible to love this wonderful bundle of contradictions now even more than two minutes ago.

“So you came to Sanditon to save me from the monster?” he asked, hope rising in him.

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders, gazing out at the calm sea. “I’m not sure. I think Babington and Crowe expected some dramatic action, me crushing the ball and plucking you from… from _her_ side, all under the eyes of the cameras.”

“That’s not quite your style,” Sidney said. Even though Sam and the production team would have loved it. But then, the red Hulk’s performance had not been that bad either.

“No, I…” She looked down at her hands for a second. “I hoped we might talk somewhere in private. Just the two of us.”

“We are talking in private now,” he reminded her, moving a tiny little half a foot closer to her. “Just the two of us.” Plus some curious oystercatchers, but hopefully, they did not count.

“Yes.” There was one small tear forming in the corner of her eye. He wished he could just lean forward and kiss it away – but again, there was something in her demeanour that made him hold back. 

“What is it you wanted to tell me?” he softly asked. “In private?”

“I wanted to tell you how it hurt. You see? It hurts so much that even now, half a bloody stupid year later, it makes me cry.”

“Charlotte…” She flinched when she heard him say her name, and he stopped himself from coming even closer, however much it shook him to see her pain, however much he longed to take her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was. But he could sense her need to keep a distance, her fear to be overpowered by her emotions. She took off a glove and wiped her eyes, evading his gaze.

“I wanted to ask you whether you know how degraded I felt when you offered me to be your secret girlfriend while parading with _her_ out in the TV world.” Sidney hung his head.

“I know it was a terrible thing to ask of you, Charlotte. I still have no other excuse than that I had no idea how to go through this TV circus without knowing that my Admiral Heywood was out there to keep me sane.” And when she still would not meet his eyes: “It all ended last night in a massive blast. – She never wanted me. She wanted the hotel.”

That made her look up. “I’m not surprised.”

“No, of course, you’re not.” Sidney could not help but smile at her like a lovesick teenager. Well, a teenager he was not, but lovesick he was. “I know you suspected something like that in the summer. And last night it turned out that while being madly in love with me in front of the cameras, Eliza was having an affair with her younger sister’s ex-husband. You might have heard of him. His name is Richard Pratt. Apparently, you’ve been in touch with her father about the bill for the wedding.”

“John Matthews? That’s Eliza’s father?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I had no idea. He’s the lawyer you called about Otis, right?”

“Exactly.” Sidney sighed. “She’s been estranged from her family since her sister found out about the affair. - It also turned out that Eliza was hoping to find me cheating on her so that she could tighten the conditions of our contract. – So, basically, it’s over. EMIL will end in tears, and it will not be renewed for a second season.”

“But what is to become of the hotel?”

“Well, I’ve had a good and long conversation with Gigi’s father. I made my confessions about Otis and Marissa and about you, and I was shown a kindness I hardly deserve. – No, that’s wrong. _You_ are being shown a kindness, and you _do_ deserve it.”

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said. 

“George Lambe is going to be our new investor,” Sidney explained. “He says he owes you a thank you for being such a friend to Gigi in the summer. And for doing what you did for me.”

“He doesn’t owe me anything for my friendsh…”

“Yes. I told him you’d say that. But whatever you say, it will not stop him from helping us. – We will have to accept some changes in the hotel’s management, though, along with five conditions.”

“Which conditions are that?” There was undeniable wariness in her voice. Without a doubt, she expected some new impossible price for the investment.

“Tom will be discharged of anything having remotely to do with money,” Sidney explained. “Mary will return as the hotel’s accountant, and I am to become a financial supervisor.”

“That’s three conditions,” Charlotte said, observant as ever.

“Right. The fourth is to get rid of the purple Christmas decoration.”

“I’ve heard about that.” For a split second, he believed he saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “I’m sure Crowe will be happy to assist you. - And the fifth?” 

“The fifth condition is actually the first. It’s about you, Charlotte.” Sidney cleared his throat. “He told me to find you, get on my knees, beg for your forgiveness, and make sure you return to my life and to the hotel. – I… I hoped you might spare me the part of going down on my knees. This being an outdoor occasion.”

If she had heard the light note he was trying to insert, she ignored it. Sidney’s heart sank. Of course, she was not ready to drop into his arms, flutter her eyelashes, sigh his name and promise to remain by his side for the rest of their lives. This was Charlotte Heywood, after all, a young lady of convictions and principles.

She looked away from him, her gaze wandering beyond the even mirror surface of the sea and towards the horizon, as if somewhere out there in the blurry distance, she might find the shadow of the girl that had come to Sanditon eight months ago. That girl so full of hope and enthusiasm, that girl so brave and candid that it had melted a jaded man’s heart. The girl that had paid the most terrible price for her integrity. 

That jaded man was no longer, and neither was the girl Charlotte Heywood. She was wearing a scar now, and she had grown from the pain he had inflicted on her. He could read it from her careful demeanour, from the way she kept the distance between them, evading his direct gaze. 

He had known all along that with his actions after the fire, he had broken something inside of her. All he could hope for now was that she would allow him to help her pick up the pieces of what had been between them, and reassemble them in a stronger structure.

“Can you forgive me, Charlotte?” he asked. 

There was a small twitch around her mouth as her eyes slowly settled on him. He felt his heartbeat accelerate, as if he was eight years old again, waiting to share the first kiss with his very first love behind the bike shed of Sanditon Primary. 

“I felt so… broken,” Charlotte finally said. “I felt so broken I wondered whether I could ever stand upright again.”

“Charlotte…” She shook her head.

“My father took me to help him with the calves, and I was crying because their eyes made me think of you.” Sidney swallowed, torn between guilt for her pain and the image of Charlotte surrounded by a herd of Sidney-calves. “I tried to put you from my mind and to cauterise my heart,” she continued. “I told myself time and again that you were a shabby thief and even worse because you were doing to me what Eliza had done to you.”

“I’m so sorry, Charlotte.” It was such an empty phrase and did not even come close to what he was feeling. Or hoping to express. “I’m sorry for breaking my promise about your special moment. I’m sorry for taking your distant country away from you.”

She looked up in surprise, fully meeting his eyes for the first time. “How do you know about that?”

“I found your books. I read the poem.” He sighed, thinking of those painful minutes in her apartment. “God, Charlotte… I could see you in those lines… so beautiful… and so brave and passionate… so ready to trust me, and to share with me everything you had to give… and all I did in return was to ask you to be my secret little affair. I have never been so ashamed in my whole life. If you hate me-”

“I do not hate you,” she very calmly said, searching his eyes. “Hate is such a dark emotion. I believe it only makes you feel even more unhappy without solving any of the reasons for your unhappiness.” He nodded. She was right, of course. Better to move on than to have a life poisoned by ugly feelings. 

“And I understood that we were both caught in a devilish equation,” she continued. “The man I had fallen in love with was the man ready to sacrifice everything, including his own happiness, to save his family. The man I met on the balcony would not have done such a thing, but then, on the other hand, I did not love him. - So my greatest worry was always for you, Sidney. I was so afraid her poison might work and turn you into a man who hated himself.”

“Her poison did not work, Charlotte,” he quietly said. “Not this time.”

“So… you did not need me to fight the sea serpent. You did it all on your own.” Her gaze was very steady and serious.

“I suppose I did, yes,” he said, realising only now the truth of the matter.

“But you got bruised in the process,” she added, pointing at the mark Eliza’s lover had left under his eye.

“Yes. I did not expect an encounter with the red Hulk, obviously.”

“The red Hulk?” He believed he saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes again.

“Another long story. We were having quite a showdown last night at the ball. I’ll ask the production people to show you some footage of the event. It… err, it might help to redeem myself with you.”

“Redeem yourself?” she repeated.

“Because I need you, Charlotte,” he explained, tentatively moving closer to her, so close that all he had to do to touch her was to raise his hand. “ _You_ made me strong enough to withstand Eliza and her circus. You knocked on my conscience time and again, and you told me to be honest with Gigi’s father. You’ve been with me on every single day since you left me, and I… I… never want to wake up again, not knowing where you are or how you are or when I’ll ever see you again.” He saw another tear slowly run down her cheek. How he longed to kiss it away, to kiss all her sadness away. “So, can you? Forgive me? Will you come back to Sanditon? And to me?”

Charlotte did not answer immediately. For a few moments, her gaze went out to the sea again. Her herring gull friend had landed on the shore and started parading up and down like a personal bodyguard, ready to step in should Sidney Parker misbehave. She smiled at the bird, then returned her soft gaze to Sidney, making him shiver. She did not speak but simply raised her hand to his cheek. Her cold fingertips met his skin, sending a tickle through his body. She carefully touched first the stubble of his beard, then the bruise under his eye, making him wince. She caressed the soft skin of his temples with her thumb, her fingers stroking his hair, keeping the eye contact during her exploration, allowing him to lose himself in her warm and gentle gaze. “Charlotte…,” he gasped as he understood that the answer to his question was right there, in her eyes and in her touch.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

*

Even a kiss, Charlotte realised, could mean a plea for forgiveness.

So soft, so tender was Sidney’s touch, shyly, nearly reverently caressing her lips in a silent appeal to trust him again. She answered his plea by pulling him closer and kissing him back more fervently, putting all the pain and desperation of the past months into her reaction until he, too, lost his restraint. They shared all their tears, all their loneliness, all the kisses they had missed, and when their lips had said all there was to say, they held each other close, their foreheads touching, his nose tenderly grazing hers.

High above them, in the light of the rising sun, a very old herring gull circled in the clear blue winter sky. 

What a beautiful day this was going to be. 


	41. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now you know why I forgot to pack a dress for Charlotte. Frankly, I’ve never seen her crashing that ball. After everything that had happened, I always thought their reunion had to be a deeply private conversation. If we ever get a second season, I hope it will be the same.
> 
> The second part of this chapter is mostly the result of a foggy winter afternoon combined with laughing about Twitter-GIFs and some sentimental scrolling through your lovely comments. So thank you for the inspiration. It was an extremely enjoyable afternoon.

“You will have to let go of me at some stage, you know,” Charlotte whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Sidney mumbled, pulling her even closer. “I absolutely don’t think so.”

They were still standing by the rocks of the cove, engulfed in the morning light, hands, arms, heads, winter jackets and scarfs forming one entangled unit of unadulterated happiness. And even though there was still quite a lot to say, for the moment, they both preferred silence. There were no words anyway for the joy of having found each other again.

Charlotte leaned back, just so that she could take in Sidney’s face. How she would never tire of looking at him. Sidney angry. Sidney focussed. Sidney emotional. A rare and therefore special sight: Sidney dumbfounded. And the most beautiful of them all: Sidney happy. So happy that his mouth curled into a smile that reached his eyes, turning them all soft and dark and sparkling. She carefully raised a finger to the bruise, feeling him wince under her touch. “Who is the red Hulk?”

“He’s Eliza’s lover,” Sidney said, briefly closing his eyes as if he was feeling that punch again. “He did not like me saying that I was not in love with her, but with you. After she had asked me to marry her. On camera and in front of two-hundred people. ”

“She asked you to marry her?” Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. Maybe Crowe had been wrong about shortcuts in rural Oxfordshire, but he was absolutely spot on with his assessment that the show was crap and Eliza completely mad. And Sidney had said… what? “You said you were in love with me? In front of the camera?”

Sidney tightened his grip of her again. “I did. I’ll ask the film crew to show you the footage. – It turned out they’d all been suspecting something was wrong. Even the production people.”

“But why would she ask you to marry her?” Charlotte asked. It seemed such a crazy thing to do in front of a TV camera, especially if you were in love with someone else. Sidney shrugged his shoulders.

“I assume she was trying to get a second season for EMIL including lots of bridal drama. – I never – _never_ – gave her the slightest indication that I would wish…” She put a finger to his lips.

“Sht. Don’t defend yourself. You said no to her, and that’s it. – After all,” she added with a mischievous little smile, “I’d say you’ve given a good account of yourself, Mr Parker.”

“A good account?” Sidney perplexed: another wonderful face.

“Yes,” she went on, the smile broadening. “I had not expected you to be so…”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m only quoting your own accolade,” Charlotte said, unable to hold back her laughter any longer. Laughing about mrscampion’s follies was the best remedy for all the pain that woman had inflicted on them - just until Sidney inclined his head and resorted to an as old-fashioned as proven method to silence a cheeky woman: he kissed her.

Charlotte did not mind the interruption, quite on the contrary. Like the many faces of Sidney Parker, there were the many kisses of Sidney Parker, all of them leading to the same result: they left her breathless and a little giddy, hungry for more and with the deep and satisfying feeling that everything was right just the way it was. 

“Sidney,” she said more serious now, stroking his dear curly head. “Can we agree on something?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Do we have to? I quite enjoy our disagreements.”

“This one is serious.” She stopped stroking his hair because obviously, that was too distracting for both of them. Instead, she framed his face with her hands to make sure they looked in each other’s eyes. “Despite everything that’s happened… I don’t want us to start on a note of guilt and reparation. I don’t want you to think that you have to go easy on me or keep all evil away, just because of a guilty conscience. I want us to start as we are, equal in mind and disposition. Can we do that?”

He took her hand from his right cheek and kissed it. “I’ll try to. But I fear I might occasionally forget that you are perfectly capable of looking after yourself. And I might want to indulge you from time to time. Not out of a guilty conscience, but because that’s what I want to do.”

“I think some indulgence is perfectly alright.” Charlotte smiled. In fact, she was quite looking forward to being indulged by Sidney Parker. He covered her hand, his expression suddenly serious.

“It will always be part of our story, Charlotte. Those six months have happened, and we cannot explain them away. We will be equal, and we will move forward together, but we will also have to accept how my actions have shaped us.”

“Maybe it helps if we acknowledge that what has happened has made us grow,” Charlotte said. “And if we strive to build something stronger than all our sad memories.”

“We _will_ build something stronger,” Sidney confirmed and took the first step towards a stronger bond by bending his head and kissing her until she hammered her fists against his chest.

“You’re eating me up, Sidney Parker.” And when her heartbeat had slowed down a little: “I have another question for you, by the way.”

“Ask me, Charlotte.”

“What happened to your face in the promo ads for EMIL? I’ve been wondering – who in the world would think it necessary to photoshop your face?” It was a pleasure to see Sidney blush – even though perhaps, it was only the result of cold winter air combined with persevering kissing.

“Oh. I… I was afraid you might see those ads. I was always worried about what you might think or feel once the promotion for the show started.” He carefully caressed her cheek with his knuckles, keeping eye contact with her. “So, unfortunately - and completely incidentally, of course -, on the day of the photo shooting, my Australian client held me up a bit. He’s been having problems again with his wife and decided to get a divorce, after all…”

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “That’s not good news.”

“No, but… err, on the other hand… you know that he’s my best client, and with the time difference, communication is not always that easy… so it was a long day at work, and I was very late for the shooting. When I finally arrived, they had proceeded with a stand-in and then let Photoshop do the rest of the job.”

“Thank the Lord for your Australian client."

“Indeed. - Eliza threw a tantrum, but the production company liked the idea of a bit of suspense about her partner, and besides, Eliza’s tantrum was just the kind of action they were after.” 

“Is there anything at all real in that show?” Charlotte asked. Sidney shrugged his shoulders. 

“Not much, I’m afraid. The hotel is real. And the red Hulk. He was very real. - Still feels very real,” he added, pointing at the bruise.

“So in the end, Eliza, the great schemer, was being manipulated by the production team, and she probably didn’t even notice.”

“I suppose you’re right, yes.”

 _“It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us,”_ she quoted. “I’m nearly feeling sorry for her. It’s good to know that at least someone loves her, even if it’s a red Hulk.”

Sidney took her hand. “You’re very kind, Charlotte. Especially since I believe she would never repay your kindness. – Now. What do you think? Are we ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to face the Parker family? Ready to return… home?”

“Yes,” Charlotte smiled, entwining her fingers with his. “I am ready.”

*

They walked back hand in hand. It was a very time-consuming walk, though, as every few steps, they had to stop, smile, cuddle and kiss. However, they were in no hurry. Somewhere on the cliff trail, Charlotte’s phone started ringing, but she silenced it after a quick look at the display.

“Who was that?” Sidney asked.

“My sister. Alison. I’ll call her back later, but… would you mind a selfie?”

“A selfie?”

“A couple-selfie,” Charlotte specified. “I think Alison deserves a quick update.” Sidney agreed. Given the temperature, there was not much to see on the photo apart from red noses, caps, scarfs, turned up collars and the beak of a wooden seagull peeping out of Charlotte’s jacket, but nevertheless, a reply pinged in very quickly: _Oh my God, Charlotte! I’m so happy for you!!!!!!!!!! What a… nose!!!!! Do his brothers look anything like him?_

Charlotte smiled. _Better stick with James. And thank you, Alison._

They had reached the parking lot. She stopped and looked up at the hotel, Mr Parker’s white swan of Sanditon, that white castle afar from the world that had become her destiny: a place of adventure, of experience, of self-discovery… and love. Sidney was pressing her hand.

“Welcome home, Admiral Heywood.”

The old herring gull had followed them and was now landing on the Aston Martin’s cowling, marching up and down as if it wanted to say: You know what I’m going to do if you disappoint, Sidney Parker.

“Seems I’ve lost my car to a bird and my heart to a siren,” Sidney said with a chuckle, opening the hotel door and allowing Charlotte to walk in first. 

The atmosphere was unchanged: the morning light that filled the lobby, the Reception, the staircase with the family gallery, the ancient lift, the smell of bacon and waffles coming from the Conservatory’s breakfast buffet.

There were some changes though: one of the glass cabinets had been replaced by a stand displaying mrscampion’s handbags. And the reception desk was decorated with a miniature purple Christmas tree with blinking lights and tiny purple baubles.

Charlotte had not made two steps into the lobby when all hell broke loose: Kamila, who had been collecting housekeeping lists from Reception, dropped all her papers with a cry, flew around Charlotte’s neck and sang: “You are back, you are back!”, followed by Julia, who gave both Charlotte and Kamila an extra-tight hug, adding: “This one’s from Philly.” 

“Thank you.” Charlotte gasped for air and squinted over to Sidney who had stepped aside, smiling but leaving the scene to her: this was her happy moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the lift doors open, and the very next second, something came hurling towards her, pushing Kamila and Julia aside. 

“Charlotte! You sly girl!” It was Gigi, twirling her around in a victory dance. “Where have you been? I was going to look for you… I told Daddy… oh – Daddy…” She turned around and taking Charlotte by her hand, led her to a man who looked like a bespectacled and tanned version of Father Christmas. “Daddy. Here’s the best Charlotte Heywood.”

“I’m pleased to meet you at last, Charlotte,” Mr Lambe said, extending his hand to her. “And I want to thank you for being such a good friend to my daughter. And to Sidney.”

“Oh,” Charlotte murmured, slightly abashed and feeling very safely that as this man was going to save the Sanditon Grand Hotel, it was actually she who should be thanking him. Behind Mr Lambe, a good-looking Asian woman stepped forward. 

“This is my… err…” Gigi started. “My…” She stopped again, collected herself, took one deep breath and continued without further difficulties: “This is Deki. My new mother.”

“I’m so pleased for you, Gigi,” Charlotte said.

“Mind you. I only said new mother. I never said new friend.” Charlotte shared a smile with Mrs Lambe and decided that a woman who had managed to survive five months on a boat with Gigi well deserved any honorary title available.

Gigi’s father walked over to shake Sidney’s hand and pat him on the back. “I did not expect you to complete your task so quickly, my boy.”

“It turns out I had a little help by my friends,” Sidney smiled.

“Then we can get to work.” Mr Lambe said. “I’m looking forward to it. Really looking forward to it, my boy.”

Behind him, the lift doors opened again, spilling out some people from the production team and their equipment. “Ah, Sid!” Sam cried. “Great to catch you before we’re leaving. Have you had a thought about my suggestions? I’ve been thinking _Charney – A Cinderella Quest._ ”

“Thank you, but apparently, Cinderella has found me.” Sidney smiled at Charlotte. Sam followed his gaze.

“Oh! That’s you! Great to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Sam from Mars Productions. Listen… can I convince you to give us a short statement on how everything’s turned out?”

“No,” Charlotte said firmly. “You can’t.” 

“Pity. Well. – Anytime you change your mind, here’s my card.”

A cold gush came through the entrance as the production workers blocked the door open to carry their equipment outside.

“Right,” Sidney said. “Shall we go to breakfast, perhaps?” – but as it turned out, breakfast was coming to them. Manoel stormed from the Conservatory towards the reception desk, wielding some papers. “Julia, the breakfast list is a mess again. How many times have I told you to… - oh.” He stopped dead. His mouth twitched for a split second; then he was back to his usual cool self. “Heywood. Finally reporting for duty? You’re really late this time.” 

With a broad smile, Charlotte stepped into his opened arms. In fact, she looked very much forward to working with him again. “Glad you’re back, Heywood,” Manoel said and added in a whisper: “And for the party on New Year’s Eve, I don’t want to see you in a black service uniform. I want to see you in a dazzling dress with that handsome man of yours by your side, enjoying the party of your lifetime.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered back as the F&B manager released her. When she looked up, she saw that Sidney had been joined by Esther, who was a bit pale, and Babington who was grinning as if he had turned into a human-sized Cheshire Cat. Before Charlotte could exchange more with them than a happy smile, there was a bustle at the open entrance door, followed by a sneeze and the unpleasant noise of metal hitting the ground. 

“Now be careful with your camera stuff!” Crowe glared at the production workers as he walked into the lobby, followed by a cheerful Fred Robinson. “Ah! Admiral Heywood! There you are! Re-united with Captain Parker? We feared you might have jumped ship.”

“Never,” Charlotte said, and Sidney, embracing his friend, added: “I don’t know how to thank you, Crowe.”

“Oh, don’t get sentimental, old man. It was nothing but a quick road trip… a gentleman’s pursuit.”

“Just for the record, it was all Babington’s idea, it was James who talked her round, and it was actually Charlotte who told me how to change the tyre,” Fred added, shaking Sidney’s hand. “Otherwise we’d still be stuck in a snowdrift in St. Andrew Something.”

“And it’s a pity that we aren’t,” Crowe explained. “I don’t know about you, but I would have loved to see Parker Boy coming to rescue his Dimple from a cold death in Oxfordshire.”

“That would make a great scene for the show,” Sam said. “Actually, Charlotte, Sid…”

“No,” Charlotte and Sidney said at the same time. 

“Let’s go and have breakfast together, everyone,” Sidney suggested again, but before anyone could move anywhere, there was a turmoil on the staircase and excited shouts of “Uncle Sinney! Uncle Sinney!” and “Charlotte!” – “Charlotte is back!”- “I saw her first!”- “No, I did!”- “I did!”-“You’re a boy, and she is _our_ friend!”

With a smile, Charlotte got down on her knees to hug the youngest Parker generation. They all fitted nicely into her arms, Henry placing a wet and sticky kiss on left her cheek, Jenny placing a less wet and sticky kiss on her right cheek, and Alicia stroking her hand. “You are like a Christmas present, Charlotte,” Henry stated solemnly, and for once, his sisters agreed with him.

“Yep,” Crowe was heard saying somewhere in the background. “And no need to film her unwrapping five times.”

Charlotte just enjoyed the blissful moment, the children’s happy faces, their honest and unconditional affection. Three bright and carefree little Parkers, allowed to live a unique childhood at their family’s hotel, like so many generations of Parker children before them. And as far as she knew their Uncle Sidney, he would never want them to find out that it was him to whom they owed that privilege.

“Will you watch Finding Nemo with us?” Alicia asked.

“I will watch Finding Nemo with you, and Ice Age, The Lion King, Walking with Dinosaurs and whatever else you want.” Charlotte wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Are you crying?” Jenny asked.

“Just a little bit.” 

“Uncle Sinney was crying when you were gone,” Henry informed her and his audience.

“I’m crying tears of joy now,” Charlotte said. “That’s the best tears you can cry.” She gave the children another hug before letting them go and returning to her feet, taking Sidney’s hand as she did so. In the meantime, the children’s parents had arrived, Diana and Arthur in tow. Diana and Mary simply hugged her and told her how lovely it was to have her back, and Arthur merrily told her about the baking show that was being proposed to him. 

Mr Parker was standing a few steps aside, waiting for his turn. He looked a little rough around the edges, the lines in his face deepened, some greying whisps of hair around his temples, his expression more solemn than joyful, and all the wiry energy that was usually radiating from him driven down to a low level. The events of the year had definitely taken a toll on him, even though his financial and personal circumstances were much better now than six months ago. Charlotte prepared herself for another catalogue speech, but all he did was take her hand, breath a kiss on it just as his Regency-ancestor would have done, and say: “Welcome back to Sanditon, my dear.”

Everything else, his eyes told her, would be said later and with a less numerous audience.

“Right,” Sidney said, clapping his hands. “Shall we go for break…” His voice trailed away as the lift doors opened once more.

mrscampion was never one to concede a defeat, and if she had to leave the Sanditon Grand Hotel, she would do so in her own personal style and with a maximum of attention ensured. For her final appearance, she had chosen skinny white jeans, a coat apparently made of white teddy bears, her trademark handbag and the dangerously high high-heels that months ago had prompted the lovely postcard lady to say that if Sidney ran away from her, mrscampion would not be able to follow him. Most of her face was hidden behind oversized vintage sunglasses.

Accompanied by a camera team, she was standing in the middle of the lobby now, scanning the merry assembly, her mouth twitching. “Oh,” she finally said, lifting the sunglasses. “I see. A gathering of the nerdy trainee’s fan base.”

There were certainly enough shining knights around, all of them eager to defend Charlotte’s honour. However, before one of them had decided what course of action to take – pull mrscampion’s ugly handbag over her head or simply shout at her to shut up and leave – a soft tap… tap… on the floor announced the final guest.

Charlotte’s herring gull came walking in through the open entrance door into the lobby. Unabashed and as if it was on holiday, it marched towards Reception, flapped its wings and landed on the desk’s writing pad, bending its head to one side as if it wanted to ask for a room.

Poor Julia Beaufort, who had little experience with guests in general and next to none with herring gulls wishing to check-in, took a step back. But the bird was not interested in her. It spread its wings, wiping the miniature purple tree off the desk in the process, took to the air and circled once around the lobby before it landed on mrscampion’s handbag stand.

“Shush,” Mr Parker said somehow half-heartedly and probably assuming that if everyone else was just staring at the bird, he, as the proprietor of the Sanditon Grand Hotel, had to take action. 

The herring gull was not impressed anyway. Maybe it knew that Tom Parker’s days as the hotel’s manager were numbered. Flapping its wings again while rocking back and forth, it took to the air the very moment the handbag stand toppled over. mrscampion dropped her sunglasses and screeched when she saw her precious darlings scattered all over the floor, but she screeched even more when the bird aimed for its final destination: her head.

It landed on the parting of her hair, tapped once or twice from one foot to another, then simply nestled down and gave two satisfied squawks as if it wanted to say: Mine! Mine!

With some imagination, mrscampion now looked like an ancient Egyptian goddess wearing a bird for a crown. However, with less imagination, she looked like a woman wearing too many false eyelashes and a silly teddy-bear-coat combined with absolutely inappropriate footwear. A woman who was close to panicking because of the giant herring gull cleaning its feathers on her head. She did not even move, she just remained petrified in the middle of the lobby, her fingers so numb that she dropped her handbag.

“Shush,” Mr Parker said, again somewhat half-heartedly and without leaving any lasting impression on his latest guest.

“That bird becomes you, Mrs Campion,” Crowe commented, pulling out his phone. “Mind if I take a picture?”

“I can see now why they call you Mrs Influencer,” Gigi added, pulling out her phone too. 

“Now that’s a shot for the family gallery, isn’t it, Mr Parker?” Fred asked. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw Julia and Kamila handle their phones as well.

“Brilliant,” Sam said, looking at the scene in rapture and nodding at his cameraman. “Couldn’t have scripted it any better.”

Charlotte let go of Sidney’s hand and stepped forward. It was her instinct to do so. However horrible mrscampion was: she was also a human being, and at this point, a human being clearly in distress, and just a click away from total humiliation. 

So Charlotte stepped forward, and when she stood in front of mrscampion, the woman’s large blue eyes met hers. Charlotte saw fear, simple fear. Fear of much more than the gull on her head: fear of the world she would meet when she stepped outside the hotel, fear of a reality beyond her Instagram account. Fear of being mrscampion no longer, fear of facing who she really was.

With that fear, Charlotte decided, she could not help Eliza. But with the herring gull, she could. She lifted her hands and gently dislodged the bird from her hair. It did not resist, quite on the contrary, it hid its beak under a wing and nestled into Charlotte’s arms, its white and silver plumage soft against her fingers, its little bird heart beating heavily in her hand. 

She carried it outside and set it down on the engine cowling of the Aston Martin, gently touching its ruffled plumage. The herring gull spread its wings, bent its head as if it wanted to take a bow, and took off towards the sea, drawing circles in the winter sky. 

When Charlotte turned around, she found Sidney standing on the hotel entrance stairs, smiling at her with a beautiful expression of love and amusement. “You cannot help it, Charlotte, can you?”

“Cannot help what?” she asked, walking up to him.

“Be a good person? Even to someone who would feed you to the crocodiles if she could.”

“This is the south of England. There are no crocodiles around. Not even a giant sea serpent.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Fortunately not.”

“I think I better wash my hands now,” she said, looking at her fingers.

“Yes. But before that… Charlotte, can I just say something?”

“Of course.” 

He gently took her by the shoulders, making sure she was facing him. Yet, where else would she want to look? There was no better place to lose oneself in than in the softness of Sidney Parker’s eyes. _I’m yours,_ those eyes told her.

“Charlotte Heywood,” Sidney said, “you are the most amazing and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I love you very, very much. – That is all.”

She leaned against his shoulders, looking up to him. “I love you too, Sidney Parker,” she whispered, just as his lips came down to touch hers. – That was not all, but for the moment, it had to suffice: she had to wash her hands, and they had a family breakfast to attend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the next chapter, it’s time to check out from the Sanditon Grand Hotel. I hope you enjoyed your stay - I certainly enjoyed mine.


	42. Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s departure time, I’m afraid.
> 
> This final chapter comes with a bow to Katiejhawkes who not only lured me back to Twitter but also in a comment proposed the perfect solution for how to prevent future Parker generations from misfortune. I could not help but steal that solution. (At this stage, I have stolen lines from so many books and movies and even from my own Sanditon stories that I suppose one more doesn’t matter).

_Sunday, January 28th, shortly before 9 pm_

“What exactly are we doing here?” Charlotte asked, following Sidney into the lift’s utility room.

“I’m taking you out for a picnic on the roof,” he said. “As Tom keeps pointing out to me, it would have all been so much easier if I had stuck to the convention. He says instead of fighting with you I should have bought you an ice cream on the promenade, or taken you to dinner in a fancy restaurant, or arranged for a romantic rowing trip.”

“I told you that you don’t need to make up for anything,” she reminded him.

“I know, Charlotte. But you also said that you would allow me to indulge you a little, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will,” she conceded with a smile. After all, was there anything more charming than Sidney Parker in an indulgent mood? - Yet, a rooftop picnic? On a January night? He had told her beforehand to dress warmly, resulting in her wearing a down jacket, boots and several layers of fleece over long underwear, two pairs of woollen socks, gloves and a bobble cap. Warm it was, but sexy or romantic perhaps not that much. 

“I thought you might not want to join the crowd watching EMIL,” Sidney explained, opening the roof door and holding out his hand to help her outside. 

“No. I really have absolutely no interest in that,” Charlotte agreed. For tonight’s airing of the first episode of the impatiently awaited new reality drama _Eliza – Madly in Love,_ one of the hotel’s function rooms had been converted into a cinema. All staff, guests and friends of the Sanditon Grand Hotel had been invited to come and watch. 

The show had received some extra media attention following an appeal from Eliza’s lawyer regarding the cutting and editing of some scenes. Yet, to no avail: just as Sam had told Sidney on Boxing Day, it did not say anywhere in her contract that she would be portrayed as a particular kind or thoughtful person, so if she came across as a scheming handbag wielding maniac, she would have to live with it, nationwide TV or not. It was called reality TV, after all.

However, the publicity for the show had already led to a considerable pick up in bookings for the new year. Sidney and Charlotte had to agree that while the road there had been anything but ideal, the result certainly was. Both the production company and the network had been very forthcoming in promoting not only the show but also the hotel, adding #SanditonGrand to their social media activities along with #EMIL. And Sidney, shrewd businessman and negotiator that he was (unless he was indulging Charlotte Heywood, which usually made him lose all his good senses), had already made sure that the hotel and especially Regency Row would feature prominently in “Beautiful Bakes”, Arthur’s upcoming baking show. However, there would be no more scenes of children unwrapping unwelcome presents – the children would, in fact, be kept out of any filming. That had been Mary’s condition.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Sidney asked as they stepped out onto the roof. 

“No.”

“Good. – I’ve always had this idea of taking out a girl for a picnic on the roof. But… err, the only one that came close was as afraid of heights as of herring gulls.” He gave a small bashful smile, as always when they touched the topic of Eliza. It would change with time, Charlotte was sure of that. A tiny remainder of guilt might always stay with him, but one day, he would stop looking caught out whenever they mentioned her name. Or rather: one day they would stop mentioning her name because there were so many more important and more exciting topics to discuss than Eliza Campion. 

As Sidney laid out a thermal blanket in a sheltered corner by the chimney, Charlotte leaned on the railing and gazed at the dark sea, a black surface lit by distant navigation lights of ships crossing the Channel. Her gaze followed the dark silhouette of the cliff slope down to Sanditon, now a mass of individual points of light encircled by the black band of the river. How she would never tire of this view, whether it was for sunrise, in broad daylight or by night.

Sidney placed their guest of honour, the wooden Esther, on one corner of the blanket, added some cushions and blankets for comfort and then started unpacking the most lovingly assembled picnic basket Arthur had ever prepared. Charlotte, still gazing at the view, lost herself in sweet memories of the past month. 

That family breakfast on the morning of her return to Sanditon had extended well into lunchtime. It had only ended when Sidney announced that there were some really very serious issues he had to discuss with Charlotte in private. This had led to general cheering and chuckling and two pairs of red ears. 

However, there were, in fact, some issues they had to discuss. Charlotte had left Birmingham the previous night without so much as a toothbrush, the manager of the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel was expecting her to return to work on January 2nd, and two-hundred miles away from Sanditon, the Heywood family was still celebrating Christmas without their eldest daughter.

In the end, they decided to go to Birmingham that very afternoon. Babington graciously offered his BMW again for their journey, as the Aston Martin provided only minimal luggage space. Before they left Sanditon, however, Charlotte insisted on a stop at the station. Sidney parked the car in the no parking zone – for old time’s sake and because he was not prepared to break with all his bad habits at the same time – and hand in hand, they walked into the building.

They were lucky: their station guard was on duty, busy helping a young mother with a pushchair through the turnstile. As soon as he had her safely on board of the 16.16 to London Victoria, he returned to the barrier, grinning broadly. “Now here’s a Christmas surprise! National Rail’s very own Romeo and Juliet, happily reunited!”

“You remember us?” Charlotte asked.

“Of course I do, luv. Felt so sorry for you, sitting all alone and broken-hearted on that train. And with your man damaging the turnstile…”

Charlotte turned her head at Sidney. “You did what?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I kept kicking the turnstile in frustration until it broke when you were gone.” There was still enough of a bad boy inside of him to make him look not too rueful about willful property damage.

The station guard gave them a wink. “Had a bet running with Constable Hankins whether we might see you again, miss. - Am glad to say now that I’ve won it.”

“I’m starting to think that we have been a source of amusement,” Charlotte said on their way back to the BMW.

“But in a positive way.” Sidney smiled but turned serious when he noticed someone by the car. “Now come on, constable! I’ve only parked here for two minutes!”

“You’ve lost me a wager,” Constable Hankins said. “And I’m not a priest, but a policeman, therefore I’m not inclined to leniency. As I keep telling you and your brother, traffic rules also apply to members of the Parker family.”

“The same family that will employ Mrs Hankins as a childminder!” The constable shrugged his shoulders. 

“That’s too different pairs of shoes, Mr Parker. Childminding is Mrs Hankins’ business, and ensuring that all our laws are observed is mine.”

So they left Sanditon with a ticket and reached Charlotte’s flatshare in Birmingham in the evening and without any detours around Oxfordshire’s beautiful countryside. They started packing up her stuff, but after twenty-four hours of excitement and sleeplessness, exhaustion quickly took its toll on Charlotte. She became drowsy sitting on her chair and only woke up when Sidney picked her up and carried her over to the bed, gently setting her down before he joined her, enfolding her in a warm embrace. This was not the time and the place for her special moment, but it was a perfect opportunity to discover more of each other and to make up for at least some of the nights they had spent apart.

The following morning, Charlotte handed in her notice to the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel's suitably distraught manager. She would have to return in January to work out the remaining days, but she had no doubt whatsoever that her future was at the Sanditon Grand Hotel. 

From the Western Midlands, they continued their roundtrip towards Herefordshire. Sidney turned increasingly taciturn after memorising the names and ages of all of Charlotte’s brothers and sisters including eventual girl-and boyfriends. Charlotte watched him from the side as he was stubbornly staring ahead, his jaw clenched, his hands clutching the steering wheel as if it was a cricket bat and James Stringer about to bowl.

“Sidney,” she said when they passed the sign saying _Willingden 2 miles._ “Can you stop the car for a moment?” When he did, she added: “I cannot guarantee that they will be nice and friendly with you. And my mother will definitely not allow us to share a room. – But…” she added, “if my brothers decide to lock you into the dairy chamber overnight, rest assured, I know where they hide the spare key.”

“Thank you, Charlotte. Do you think they will allow me to keep my phone?”

“Just press D for Dimple and I’ll come and rescue you.”

This lightened up his mood until they arrived at the Heywood farm. Mrs Heywood and her younger girls turned out to be slightly intimidated by the handsome film star lookalike accompanying the sister they mostly knew as Rubber Boots Charlotte. The boys were disappointed because they had been told something about a flashy car and were presented now with Babington’s family compatible BMW instead. Alison, however, a lively girl sharing her elder sister’s dark eyes and brown hair, yet perhaps not so much the special delicacy of her features (and certainly not her dimple), simply hugged Sidney and said: “I’m so glad. And so is James, by the way.”

Joe and Dan shook Sidney’s hand in a way that would have left most men flinching but not someone who counted a punching ball among his good friends and had faced the red Hulk. 

Mr Heywood merely twitched his mouth at the possible new addition to the family. After lunch, however, he suggested he and Mr Parker have a private conversation. This made Charlotte feel like a heroine from a nineteenth-century novel whose beloved had to lay out his intentions and financial status to a prospective father-in-law. It was also slightly embarrassing since although she had a distinct feeling that her father would, in fact, one day become Sidney’s father-in-law, this happy event would certainly not occur soon. 

After that “private conversation” it turned out that Mr Heywood had indeed been interested in the financial status, albeit not so much of Sidney himself, but of the Sanditon Grand Hotel. He was a careful man, and he simply wanted to make sure that his darling eldest daughter was not acting foolhardily in leaving her safe job in Birmingham for a return to Tom Parker’s folly. 

On hearing that and how the hotel’s future was now safer than on the day Charlotte had first set foot in Sanditon, Mr Heywood’s demeanour towards Sidney changed, even though during the remainder of their visit, he could never bring himself to call him anything but “Mr Parker”. But that, Charlotte assumed, was probably her father’s quiet way of reminding Sidney that even though the heartbreak he had caused might be forgiven by herself, it was long from being forgotten by her family. 

They left Willingden the next morning after a night spent apart, as Charlotte had predicted, and with the promise to return soon. The next day, Sidney would meet with George Lambe and start the operation internally labelled #SaveSanditon, but this afternoon was theirs, and in a way neither of them had planned or foreseen, it evolved into the afternoon that made Charlotte’s special moment come true. 

It started with Sidney slumping down Charlotte’s suitcase in the attic apartment and accusing her of carrying rocks from Birmingham to Sanditon (“No, it’s just shoes. – And maybe some books.”). It went on with some playful snogging, landing them both on the bed. It continued with some kisses, and some more kisses placed here and there, and some hands suddenly exploring everywhere, just until their eyes met, asking each other the same question.

“We don’t…” Sidney started in a hoarse voice.

“We do,” Charlotte said, and that settled it.

Charlotte found out that dreams of distant countries were a fine pastime when sitting alone in an attic apartment but that nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the real Sidney Parker making actual love to her, showing her everything she wanted to know, guiding her patiently and tenderly through her explorations, leaving them in a bubble of love, sensuality and perfect happiness. Sidney found something he would often try to describe but never quite managed to. Which was not that bad: in this case, Charlotte preferred action to words.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Heywood.” Sidney now said, handing her a glass of champagne and propelling her back onto the roof where, in the flickering light of a lantern and under the eyes of a wooden seagull, he had laid out Arthur’s magnificent picnic.

“Oh… I was just thinking about the past weeks.”

“Did anything in particular confound you?” 

“No.” She took his hand. “Nothing. Not even you, Sidney Parker.”

He chuckled and started to feed her with salmon paté.

If they listened closely, they could hear the laughter and the cheers from the function room on the first floor where the drama of EMIL was unrolling on screen. But they did not listen very closely. They very much preferred listening to the song of the waves hugging Sanditon’s shores in the distance, an everlasting song that went on undeterred by fabled sea serpents, ugly handbags, or financial disaster. The best part about a rooftop picnic on a starry winter night was of course that at some stage, Sidney and Charlotte had to huddle together very closely, wrapped in another blanket against the cold.

“I’ve been thinking, Charlotte,” Sidney said, his breath tickling her ear.

“Oh. Thinking or over-thinking?”

“Thinking. That champagne makes you cheeky, doesn’t it?”

“I haven’t had that much.”

“Never mind. I like cheeky Charlotte.” He tickled cheeky Charlotte until she curled in his arms. “ – I’ve been thinking about us.”

“Oh?” She sat up, facing him now. Was this going to be a relationship talk?

“Well, obviously, you are living and working in Sanditon,” Sidney said, “while I’m splitting my time up between London and my new duties here. Now I am in the luxurious position that I can do most of my work from wherever I am, even though there will always be days when I have to go back to London.”

“What are we talking about?” Charlotte asked, feeling a little dizzy from the champagne after all. 

“I’m talking about the future. And about accommodating our jobs and private lives.” He suddenly looked very serious. This _was_ a relationship talk. Sort of. “As much as I like your attic apartment for all the happy memories it holds, it is a rather cramped place for two people.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we add more of the attic rooms and convert them all into one real apartment.”

“What?” She sat up.

“A real apartment,” he repeated. “A home for us. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, smiling as if the sun had just risen again. “Yes! I’d like that very much.”

“Very well. Then I’ll speak with an architect and…”

“But Sidney…” She shook her head, she did not want to be too happy too early. “Converting the attic into a flat… that will not come for nothing.” He furrowed his brow, trying to look grim, yet she also detected a smile on his lips.

“Does being friends with James Stringer make you an expert?”

“No. Knowing maths does.”

Sidney chuckled. “You’re right, it will not come for nothing, but there is something else I have been thinking about.”

“And what would that be?”

“Selling the silly old car.” Charlotte sat up straight again, facing him.

“You know that I truly believe it’s a beautiful car,” she said. It definitely was, though in everyday life, it was terribly impractical with its tiny boot and the attention it drew wherever it was parked.

“It is a beautiful car,” Sidney agreed, “and I’ll probably regret selling it until the end of my life, but on the other hand… I feel the man who needed the Aston Martin is no longer around. Now it’s nothing but a sad reminder of a time I never want to go back to.” Charlotte quietly pressed his hand. “You know, Charlotte, when you were musing in front of Otis and Gigi what I was compensating with that silly old car…”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I knew I was wrong the moment the words were out of my mouth. I was just… I was so disappointed because before you left for Sydney, I had started to believe that… that there might be something between us… and then all I got was one cryptic message and Gigi’s horrible stories about you and Marissa.”

“I know. And I had started to believe the same when I left. But I could not acknowledge it. And then… you hit such a nerve with everything you said on the station square – and you dared to ask the one question about my car that Tom or Babington or Crowe never dared to ask. You – a girl that had been nowhere…”

“… and learnt nothing.”

“Exactly.” He cupped her face, brushed her dimple with his thumb and leaned forward to kiss it. “Except that you knew everything anyway.”

“So the car will have to go,” Charlotte said after a while, still touched by the simple tenderness of his kiss.

“The car will have to go,” he agreed. “For our future.” He wriggled himself out of the blanket to refill their champagne glasses. “Look who’s here,” he added, pointing at the silhouette of a herring gull sitting on the chimney. It was too dark to make out the details, yet they both knew their visitor. Even if Sidney did not miss the Aston Martin, at least one other resident of Sanditon would.

“To our future,” they solemnly said and clinked their glasses.

“Charlotte,” Sidney said after a few moments, pulling her close to him again. “Can we go back one more time?”

“Whereto?” She snuggled into his arms, indeed feeling a bit dizzy, but whether that was because of the champagne or because of an overdose of happiness, she could not say.

“To the cove. To when you ambushed me at the cove.”

“I never ambushed you at the cove!” 

“You did,” he chuckled.

“I… never!” The champagne glasses, as well as the wooden Esther, toppled over when she launched herself at him. Unfortunately, he was so much stronger, and after a little struggle, she found herself pinned down by him. “You were disrupting an innocent girl’s peaceful stroll along the shoreline with your reckless bathing habits!” she gasped, feeling Sidney laugh on top of her. 

“You staring at me for several seconds was not that innocent.”

“Did you count them? The seconds? Because while I was staring, you did nothing to cover yourself.”

“I thought you might want to enjoy what you were staring at.” He sat up, pulling her with him. “So did you? Enjoy it?”

“You vain man.” Charlotte laughed, all the more because it was so easy to laugh about that encounter now. She put her hand on his cheek because that was something she really liked to do: to feel him, to see that he was real and that he was hers. Then she turned serious. “I was shocked. Because it was _you_ , of all men, and you were so… so beautiful. It made everything you had said to me only more hurtful.”

“Beautiful, eh?” He tilted his head, looking rather mischievous now, but keeping her gaze.

“Yes. - And hurtful,” she added. He sighed, letting mischievous Sidney go. Serious Sidney was back.

“As I said. There are many good reasons to sell the car. And the man that was driving it along with it.”

“I’ll keep the man,” Charlotte smiled, caressing his face. “He’s so much improved. He’s the full package now: beautiful inside and handsome outside.”

“Now who’s indulging whom?” Sidney asked with another, rather pleased sigh.

Down in the function room, another cheer went up. “I suppose that’s Eliza finding the inflatable crocodile in her bed,” he commented. “The show seems to be quite a success, at least with our partial audience.”

“Do you think they’ll like it beyond Sanditon?” Charlotte asked. 

“They better do. It would help us a lot.” He pulled her closer to him again, and for a while, they did nothing but enjoy each other’s nearness, gazing at the stars and listening to the sea.

“I came up here on the evening of the Christmas ball,” Sidney finally said. “I watched the sunset and thought about how the Parker family has shaped Sanditon’s landscape.”

“As they will continue to do, thanks to you.” 

“I only hope it all holds together.” So far, it did, but this was still early days: Mary was happy to return to work, Charlotte was back to the office, exuding calm and common sense, George Lambe was opening his purse, and Lady Denham had stopped complaining. As the first move of operation #SaveSanditon, Sidney engaged a social media manager – a real social media manager, not the gardener’s student daughter – to cover the hotel’s online accounts and deal with the interest the TV broadcast was bound to spark. 

In another move, Sidney and George Lambe had offered Manoel the hotel manager's position a promotion he gladly accepted, much to Charlotte's joy. She had no doubt at all that with his cool professionalism, he would steer the hotel into the right direction during these exciting times, and she looked forward to working with him in her own new capacity as the hotel’s Reception and Events Manager.

Tom took his demotion with surprising equanimity and claimed that his new title of “family host” was far more personal and guest-oriented than “hotel manager”. Now that he no longer was beset with worries about financial responsibilities, unsold apartments and the influence of low-cost airlines and the English weather on his business, his wiry energy settled down to a healthier balance, leaving him alert and active, but no longer jumping from one project to the next.

He actually enjoyed doing what George Lambe had prescribed him to do: he drove the shuttle bus, he welcomed every guest at breakfast (though he did not very often lend a hand in service), and he entertained everyone with Sanditon tales of old. His latest idea was to don a Regency costume, slip into his fabled ancestor's role, and offer guided tours of Regency Sanditon. His wife and siblings happily encouraged that plan. Truth be told, they would have encouraged any idea that kept Tom Parker’s hands off the accounting files, but this one finally found universal support.

“It will hold together,” Charlotte said now, moving even closer into the warmth of Sidney’s embrace. After all and for any emergency, she now had Susan’s phone number. And Susan, delighted about her return to Sanditon, had asked her to call whenever the need arose. “And if it doesn’t hold together, we will find another way. Don’t you know what happened after Thomas Parker installed his brand-new bathing machines in the spring of 1816?”

“Have you been studying family history?”

“No, but I used to share an office with your brother.”

Sidney chuckled. “It’s his favourite story. The summer of 1816 that did not happen, and Thomas Parker sitting alone on a rainy beach.”

“Yes, but somehow he prevailed, and Sanditon survived. – Although we might prevent further misfortune by not naming any of our children Thomas.” Charlotte stopped abruptly. The words had just tumbled out of her mouth, and it had felt natural to say them, but maybe this talk about children-

“Very good point,” Sidney said. “We’ll name them after some sensible people. Like Charlotte and Sidney.”

Charlotte laughed with relief. “I’m not sure we two have been such examples of sensibility during our acquaintance, Mr Parker.”

“Maybe not. But we are proving now that with a bit of courage and good sense, you can turn even the most hopeless beginning into a very happy ending.” 

“Yes,” Charlotte said a little breathless, touching his cheek and feeling his lips close to hers as down in the function room, another merry cheer went up. “Yes. That's what it is. Our happy ending.”

*

High above them, high in the night sky over Sanditon, a single old herring gull flapped its wings. 

For of course the true masters of Sanditon were not the Denhams or the Parkers, but the gulls. They had the best perspective, they had seen it all: generations of Parker men, kissing their ladies on the rooftop of the hotel, behind the hydrangea in the parking lot or in the bluebell field by the river. On the beach, out on the mudflats, on the steep cliff trail. Down at the cove. 

And once, on a fine, fresh summer day, many years before Henry Parker started building the Sanditon Grand Hotel right at the same spot: up there on the cliff.

Up there on the cliff: a tall, dark man nervously clutching a top hat, a girl with tousled hair, and a kiss so sweet it seemed to last forever. 

It was not meant to last, though. Not that first time.

Yet, one day, the tall, dark man and the girl with the tousled hair returned. And they kissed again.

That, however, is a different story. We will tell it at another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is all.
> 
> THANK YOU – DANKESCHÖN – MERCI – GRAZIE – GRACIAS – (insert any language)
> 
> for your kudos, your comments here and on Twitter and Facebook, your mental support and all these little hints, prompts, guesses and questions that shaped this story to what it became in the end. And of course THANK YOU for all those GIFs featuring seagulls, crocodiles, space rockets, golf carts, dinosaurs, and, yes, purple Christmas decoration. You made me laugh so many times – and more than once just when I needed a good laugh.
> 
> Here’s one final conundrum solved for you: Why did I send Sidney to Berlin in Chapter 26? Why not to Paris, Brussels or any other place remotely in Sanditon’s time zone? 
> 
> It’s all about the hotel room he’s staying in, of course.
> 
> That’s where it started, on a bleak night in September 2019, when I was sitting in that same hotel room in Berlin, rather frustrated for several reasons, too tired to read, not in the mood for anything the too many TV channels had on offer, but in desperate need for some happy escapism. What did I do? I opened YouTube. What did YouTube do? It suggested a clip of a man wearing not very much apart from some drops of saltwater, rising from the sea and scaring a blushing girl away.
> 
> I had no idea who those people were or what I was watching, but once I had figured that out, the evening took a truly agreeable turn.
> 
> So that’s why I am here: because fifteen months ago, I had a bad day topped up with a lousy choice of TV channels. Which perfectly proves the point that good things can grow from bad beginnings.
> 
> These are difficult months for many of us, but please always, always keep in mind that we should seek what unites us, not what divides us. And if what unites us all across this crazy world is a messed-up Austen-adaptation, then that is a happy ending after all. 
> 
> Stay calm and stay safe. 
> 
> Toni
> 
> PS:  
> I’m adding a comment with some suggestions of what might have happened next.  
> And if you have any idea what those ugly handbags actually look like, please let me know. I’ve been wondering for weeks if not months.


End file.
